4 Hours
by financebabe
Summary: Stephanie is taken by a ghost from Ranger's past giving the guys four hours to locate and save her. Each chapter from a different POV, this is a love story from RangeMan to Stephanie of her ultimate rescue from impossible odds.
1. Woody

_As always, I am merely borrowing the characters below from JE. I created nothing here._

_Jenny (JenRar) I can't thank you enough for encouraging me to write this when I worried that it was too much of a deviation from my usual stories. Your contribution to this journey has gone well beyond just being the beta._

**Chapter 1 – Woody - 1000 Hours – The Clock is Ticking**

I hated working monitor duty with Hal. He's the quietest person here, which is fine for shorter assignments, but because we're down a few staff members right now from people called up for duty, our mind numbing shifts staring at black and white security feeds were now four hours, instead of just two. After sitting here for two hundred and ten minutes in near silence, I was about ready to start climbing the walls.

When the phone rang, I jumped from the unexpected break in the silence. Despite the handset being closer to Hal, I leaned over and answered it, desperate for any distraction I could get.

"RangeMan, how can I help you?" I answered in the prescribed manner, glad to be following a script of sorts, so I didn't have to figure out the right words.

A male voice with a slight accent that I didn't recognize, but instantly disliked, said, "And which Merry Man am I talking to?"

What in the hell did that mean? Did this joker think he was calling Robin Hood? Because I could guarantee that I was no freaking Merry Man. Hell, the idea of tights made me shudder, causing Hal to look over like I'd lost my mind. Damn prank caller.

"Who is this?" I decided to go on the offensive, instead of giving in to what this delusional person was after. After all, every phone call to the control room required a log entry to be typed up, so I needed something to document other than "a crazy man called at 1000 hours."

"No, no," he corrected in a smooth voice. "You don't get to ask anything of me, because I hold all the cards in this game."

I may have been desperate for something to break of the monotony of a boring shift, but this was too strange to be entertaining. "Mister, I don't know who you are, but I'm not playing any games."

I was about to hang up, but he quickly said, "Oh, but you are. Here, let me give you a little of the soundtrack, so you understand the kind of party game I'm referring to."

With that, I heard a snapping sound that reminded me of Indiana Jones when he would use a whip to beat back the bad guys. I always loved that sound, but immediately following the leather snap was a bloodcurdling scream that could only have been made by one person.

I hit the record button to begin capturing the call, and then I began the tracing software designed to get a lock onto the caller's location. Finally, I quickly wrote a note to Hal, telling him to alert the core team to conference in on this call. I knew Ranger was in the wind stateside and I thought Bobby was asleep downstairs after a late night injury call, but Les and Tank should both be around.

Hal looked at me strangely, but picked up the internal phone and began hitting extensions, trying to locate the guys like I'd said. I might not like the silence that working with Hal dictated, but he was damn dependable at following orders, so I was able to relax in the knowledge that he'd get them on the line.

"I'm listening. You don't need to do anymore," I quickly said to the stranger on the phone. I had no way to prove that scream belonged to Stephanie, but my heart said it was her, so I needed to do anything I could to protect her from more pain because of my inability to pick up on what the mad man wanted.

"Very good," he said, surrounded by silence once more. "Obviously, you do not know who I am, and I realize this puts you at a bit of a disadvantage, but I have to assume if Manoso hired you that you are capable of following directions, so you will need to listen carefully."

"I will," I assured him, hoping he would continue talking. As long as he was talking, I didn't hear any screams, which meant that Stephanie wasn't being hurt. I'd gladly listen to his crazy rambling all day long if it spared her any suffering.

"Excellent." He was nuts... The fact that he thought he'd get away with hurting Stephanie was a major piece of evidence, but clearly, the fact that he thought I wanted his praise was another reason, too.

"Now, I have something that belongs to Mr. Manoso. I acquired her last night and found her quite pretty, but definitely not stunning. Honestly, I was a bit confused about why she seemed to have infatuated the famous Ranger. But after working with her through the night, I began to understand. She isn't trained or very strong, but she refuses to break, which is astounding, considering what I've put her through. She insists that she doesn't know where Mr. Manoso is, nor how to get in touch with him, and just in case she's telling the truth, I've decided to go about this a different way."

Fuck! Nothing about what he'd said gave me a good feeling. What in the hell had Stephanie endured to protect Ranger? And why wouldn't she give him up? He was technically on a mission, but he was stateside. We all knew we could call him at any time on his cell phone and he'd take the call.

Stephanie had been talking to him a couple of days ago for advice on how to pick up a skip he'd helped her with in the past. I'd walked by when she'd called him Henry Higgins and stuck around after her call just so she'd explain the reference. I'd had no idea that was what started their…well, whatever they have. They both seem to be under the delusion that they aren't in a relationship, but even a blind man could see they were completely committed to each other. And the fact that she'd just spent the night enduring some kind of torturous hell in order to protect him only drove the point home about what he meant to her. No one would have blamed her for cracking and telling this fool how to reach Ranger, but nobody would be surprised that she'd refused to do it, either.

"Several years ago, Mr. Manoso was charged with capturing my brother and his wife because of a little business venture they were engaged in to provide young girls from our country to businessmen in America to use for profit. He seemed to think it was his place to step in and interrupt the family business. In order to get my brother, he first captured his wife and used her as bait to bring in the target he was really after. I'm telling you this because Mr. Manoso will need that piece of history to save Miss Plum."

"Mr. Manoso isn't here now. Is there any chance you'll give me more information about the history?" I knew I was pushing, but I had no clue what he was talking about, and I knew we'd be on full alert as soon as I got off the phone, so the more details we had to work with, the quicker we could kill this son of a bitch and bring our girl home.

There was laughter in my earpiece, reminding me of a mad scientist, before he said, "No, I'm afraid only Mr. Manoso can understand."

"I can try to get a message to him, but I have no idea how long it will take to hear back." I needed to bargain, to prepare him for it to take days in the hope that he'd slow down working on Stephanie so that she could survive until we could locate where she was being held.

"That isn't going to work," he corrected me. "I am calling you as a courtesy. You have exactly four hours to have Mr. Manoso produce himself, or Miss Plum will be dead. She's in an empty warehouse near the waterfront, and I'm sure you have some way of locating her with that piece of information. I will not interfere with any activity to rescue her, but you need to be aware of three things."

"What things?" I asked, pulling a tablet near me to write them down as he spoke. I was always a visual person, and seeing what someone was saying made it stick with me better.

"First, she is completely secure, and you will not be able to extract her. I have rigged the entire warehouse so that any attempt to simply walk in and grab her will result in your deaths. On top of that, should you actually find a way to get to her, which I highly doubt you will, you should not try to simply pick her up and run, or it will result in her death. But before you deem me to be unreasonable, you have my word that if Mr. Manoso arrives in time, he will know what to do to save her, and I will not interfere with the work to free Miss Plum. She is a rare woman to have endured with her pride intact as she has, and I believe it would be a shame to lose her in the world."

He might be a dead man as far as I was concerned, but it seemed as though he had at least a little sanity left if he recognized that the world needed Stephanie.

"Secondly, you only have four hours to produce Mr. Manoso. I have started the clock running, and Miss Plum's life will end automatically in two hundred and forty minutes. Unless Mr. Manoso arrives to stop the clock, there is nothing that can be done to save her."

So he'd booby trapped the building to keep us away from her. He'd booby trapped Stephanie to keep her from being removed from the building, and he'd given us a short window to save her before it won't matter, because she'll be dead. This was the worst nightmare of every man in this building.

"And finally, because I am a fair man and recognize it is unfair to make Miss Plum suffer for the sins of Mr. Manoso, I have given her a trigger that she can use at any time to end her time as a pawn in the game. If she gives up hope and pushes the button, her life will end immediately."

Could this get any worse? Depending on her frame of mind, Stephanie might decide to take her life, just to keep us from getting hurt while trying to rescue her.

"And when you speak to Mr. Manoso, be sure to tell him that if he decides to save the woman the streets say belong to him, I will not interfere with her rescue, but the moment she is free, I will end his life. I will allow her to live, but only if his life is forfeited in her place. In four hours, someone will be dead, Mr. Manoso has the power to select who it will be, but that is all he can control."

I saw the trace light had engaged, saying we had a location on the caller. "When does the time begin?" I asked, wanting to keep him talking anyway.

There was a tisking sound. "My boy, you need to listen better. I told you two hundred and seventy seconds ago that you had four hours. The time you've been given is already down to three hours and fifty-five and a half minutes."

"You won't get away with this," I knew it was foolish, but I couldn't stop myself from saying it.

"Ah, Merry Man, I already have," he replied coolly.

"Why are you calling me Merry Man?" I couldn't help but ask.

That earned me a laugh. "I cannot answer that; you will have to ask Miss Plum, if she survives. I took her phone from her, looking for a number for Mr. Manoso to deliver this message myself, and could not locate a listing for him."

I was surprised to hear that, assuming she'd have Ranger in her phone as a contact. Then again, Ranger had given her that phone a few months ago, so I figured he had his number hard wired in, and unless you knew what to dial, you wouldn't be able to access it.

Oblivious to my inner thoughts, he continued. "However, there was a listing with this phone number under the name Merry Men, which is what I dialed to reach you. I have to say, you don't really match the name. You don't sound very merry to me," he taunted, before the unmistakable click of him hanging up sounded.

Before I could set the receiver down, I heard a horrible crash on the main floor, where our cubicles were located. Then there was the distinctive sound of a wall being punched. It was followed by the cracking of plaster, meaning whoever had turned their wall into a punching bag had gone through it completely. I took that to mean that Tank and Lester had both picked up the phone in time to catch the gist of the call.

"Woodrow!" Tank yelled after banging his door open.

I hated hearing my full name belted out like that, but knew this wasn't the time to complain about it.

"Sir," I responded from my seat, finally setting the phone back down in its cradle.

"Get in here," he commanded. His voice carried so much authority on a good day that adding the fury he was emanating at the moment, there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that I wouldn't obey.

As soon as I walked into his office, I asked, "Sir, should I send someone into the control room?" It was a subtle reminder to him about RangeMan policy demanding two bodies be in there at all time.

"Screw the control room," Tank replied. "This whole building can burn to the ground, for all I care. Some fucker has our girl, and the clients can all go to hell until we get her back."

Well, that cleared up where the focus should be. In Ranger's absence, Tank's word was law. I guess there wasn't any doubt what we were going to do.

Santos came in as Tank began barking out orders. "I'm calling Ranger to get his ass on a plane. He can be here in an hour at the latest, but it may take some time to reach him and to figure out who the asshole is that is hurting Stephanie, so we're going to have to work this from both ends, and not just wait on the boss to clear up the mystery."

I nodded that I understood. "You,"—he pointed in my direction—"will move to the large conference room and have Vince assist you in setting up a full scale control center to run this operation. All communication regarding this situation will run through you in order to record, document, and coordinate."

I had experience running a data center for the FBI, so I knew exactly what he needed. As much as I wanted to be out there helping in the search and rescue, I knew we needed someone here that was capable of handling the flow of information, and no one else was as qualified as I was.

"Yes, sir," I told him, accepting the order and letting him know I'd see it done.

Then Tank looked at Santos behind me and said, "You, grab a team and head down to the waterfront and find Stephanie. You've got the address from the trace on the call, so start there, and then branch out if you have to, but you don't stop knocking doors down until you find her, understood?"

"Yes, sir," he replied with a face I'd never seen on Santos.

We'd worked together for three years now, and I knew when a situation called for it, he could be as serious as a heart attack, but this was way beyond anything I'd ever thought he was capable of. There were rumors that when he was still in the Army and running missions along with Tank and Ranger, he was the one they used for psychological warfare, and if that didn't work, they just turned him loose. He'd studied psychology, which enabled him to get in people's heads in weird ways. But according to the guys, he'd studied it because he had to, in order to bring himself back from the brink. Apparently, he'd seem some pretty intense shit in his lifetime and in order to keep control on the animal inside him that wanted to seek retribution for the horrors he'd seen, he had to understand how his mind worked first. I wasn't sure if any of it was true or not, but at the moment, I'd lay money on the fact that there was a beast inside the man behind me and it was capable of doing whatever was necessary to free Stephanie.

I followed Santos out and went to Vince's desk first. He was the best computer geek we had on staff in Trenton, so I understood why Tank had tapped him to serve as my right hand. I stopped by his chair and said, "Let's go, man. We have to set up a situation room in conference room B."

"What's doing?" he asked, standing up to follow me. He wasn't refusing to help, but to set up the right space, he needed to know what was going on.

As we moved to the storage room to take the equipment we'd need, I said, "Somebody's taken Stephanie, and we have four hours to find her."

Vince stopped walking. "Holy shit. What happens in four hours and one minute?"

I turned to look at him, not appreciating him slowing down the progress and definitely not approving of him entertaining the question of what happened if we didn't succeed in our mission. "Move while you talk!" I practically yelled at him. "We don't talk about what happens then, because the only thing we could do at that point is call her parents and help transport the body. Since that isn't an acceptable alternative, it is our job to make sure the clock doesn't get that far." Then I looked him in the eye and asked, "Can you handle this, or are your emotions going to get in the way? We don't have time for you to pull yourself together."

"I'm good," he said, squaring his jaw and standing a little taller.

I started shoving chairs out into the hall. This room wasn't for sitting, and we'd need the space for the equipment. I left a seat for Vince only, and then started running cables to string together three laptops, a projector, and the emergency communication phone system. Any calls to or from this system would automatically be logged by the computer and recorded to the hard drive.

We'd practiced drills like this, and the training had paid off, because in less than six minutes, Vince announced, "We're live."

I grabbed a dry erase marker to begin logging activity on the white board on the wall. Some people might think computers were the only tool for a situation like this, but there was something about writing some of the players and the movement as clues lead into each other that I found helped me to better run the operation, so I started by marking that Tank was reaching out to Ranger, and then making a separate space for Santos – drawing lines under his name to record his team once I knew who they were.

Everything that was said, every order that came in or went out would be logged by Vince and would appear on the other wall from the projector, giving me Vince's activity log from the laptop.

I took the wireless headset Vince handed me and clipped the control piece to my belt. "Get me Hal," I said, running in my head all the bases that we needed to cover. Tank had said we were going to work this from every angle to find Steph, and since we had zilch to go with at the moment, it was my job to start gathering some clues.

Hal appeared in the doorway, red in the face. I knew it wasn't from running down the hall. He'd heard that phone call after telling Tank and Lester to join in, so he knew exactly what was going on.

I held up a finger to tell him to wait, and then turned back to Vince. "Send out the emergency text to all RangeMan employees for this situation." After this, not only would every man in Trenton know what was happening, but the staff in Miami, Boston, and Atlanta would, as well.

He nodded and began typing to bring up the prewritten text that we'd set up in case Stephanie was ever kidnapped. All the shit we'd done a year and a half ago that seemed so maudlin at the time had left us prepared to spring into action. I'd never complain again about emergency preparedness training when it came up again in the fall.

The cell phone on my hip vibrated, and I looked down to see the text from Vince. "Emergency protocol Beta" was the header. If anything had happened to Ranger, it would have said Alpha, as he was the man in charge of the organization, but Lester had suggested we use Beta for Stephanie, since a lot of the guys called her Bomber, and in our minds at least, she was the second most important asset in the company. The rest was just a list of short reminders of the protocol regarding the fact that every available staff person was now considered on duty, and they were to report to their work station to await further orders.

"Send a copy of the phone call I took in the control room fifteen minutes ago to every computer in the building and to the directors of the other cities. It will get the guys up to speed and avoid the need for a briefing to slow everybody down," I barked out to Vince, hearing him begin the process of retrieving the recorded conversation.

Then I turned back to face Hal and said, "Get your kit and head over to Stephanie's apartment. He said he took her last night, so I'm guessing that meant he abducted her from her apartment during the night. Go over that place with a fine toothed comb and get me every possible piece of evidence to figure out who took Stephanie."

"Got it," he replied without question. Hal was our resident crime scene tech. He was a chemistry major in college and had worked on an investigation team for the Navy like that show on television – "CSI" – pretended to emulate. I assumed he was so quiet because the man never missed a single detail when he assessed a situation, and being that detail oriented had to keep your mind rolling at a speed too fast to have room for conversation, too.

"Hey, Hal," I called out before he left. "You find anything – big or small – and you call in with it. Time ain't on our side here, and we need to get this rolling quickly."

He nodded, and then asked, "Can I take Bones with me? He's got some experience as a tech assistant."

"Good idea," I agreed, hoping that between the two of them, they'd get some answers twice as fast. "Head out," I barked, sounding more like Tank with every tick of the second hand.

No sooner had that thought crossed my mind then the man himself showed up in the doorway and looked around at the set up, before nodding his agreement that we had it under control. I used the marker in my hand to point to his name next to Ranger's on the board.

"Any news?" I prompted.

"He's rolling and pissed as hell. It will take him an hour to reach Trenton, but Hawk will chopper him straight to the roof here, and he'll check in with you to see what we know. In the meantime, any pieces of info can be sent to his phone," Tank reported to my great relief.

I made a note that Ranger's ETA was 1120 hours, which would still give us two and half hours to find and save Stephanie once he was here to direct us.

"Any new directions?" I asked as he stood there, staring toward the window.

My words shook him out of his temporary stupor, and he shook his head. Tank was a man of few words on a good day, but when he was pissed, he had two levels: pissed off and loud, or deathly still and quiet. I wasn't sure which was better, but it was easy to see where he was settling at the moment.

The comm room line rang, and I patched it through to the central table speaker in the middle of the room. "Report," I said, keeping it short and hoping like hell it was somebody with good news.

Lester's voice came through. "I think we've found her."

"You think?" I asked, confused about why there wasn't more certainty.

"The address we got from the phone trace was a huge warehouse at the waterfront. There is nothing else nearby, so it's most likely here," he began explaining.

"Why haven't you gone in?" Tank bellowed from the doorway, slipping into the other side of his personality. I wasn't sure it was an improvement.

"There are explosives on the doors, a gas line trigger set to combust if we approach too close to the perimeter, and two dogs inside the gate before you get to the warehouse door itself. From the looks of the building, there's nothing there to need that kind of protection, so I have to assume she's there," he reported, making the logical conclusion.

"Who do you want to send?" I asked Tank, ready to pull up the guys who were at their desks, waiting on orders.

Tank knew the men as well as Ranger. He was well versed in every specialty and hobby interest in this building. It didn't take him five seconds to say, "Cal for the dogs, Ram for the explosives, and Hector can shut off the gas feed and assess for any other surprises."

I glanced at Vince, and he nodded his head that he had the orders and was typing them in to call up the guys Tank had suggested.

"You need anybody else?" I asked into the phone.

"Hell if I know," Lester replied, his frustration evident in his tone.

"I'm heading down, too," Tank announced. "I'll set up a comm area there in a RangeMan van and patch into you. We can respond a lot faster if we've got a central presence on the ground, as well."

I nodded, knowing it was the right call and would increase our response time if Tank was there to command and I was here to coordinate.

He started to walk out, and then turned, like he'd remembered something. "The whole damn company is at your disposal. If you even think it might help in some way, you make it happen. I don't give a shit about the clients, and the rest of the city can kiss my ass right now. Getting her back here safe is all that matters. You understand?"

It went without saying, but he was basically giving me blanket permission to do anything I even thought might help. I would have done it anyway, but it was nice to have it on record.

Tank walked out when I nodded that I knew what he was saying, and I took a deep breath, before looking back at the dry erase board. Something about the white surface helped me to focus, and I said, "I need two contract workers."

I heard him typing and knew he was pulling up some names. He handed me a sheet of paper hot off the printer, and I read the four names he'd gotten and yelled, "Binkie!"

I heard his feet immediately and saw his face quickly thereafter. "Yeah?"

He stepped in, and the look on his face was one I knew I'd see until this situation was resolved. He was desperate for something – anything – to do.

I handed him the paper from Vince and instructed, "Get me two of the guys from this list ten minutes ago and stick them in the control room. I want every client monitored until this is resolved and every phone call on the main line is to be answered."

"Got it," he said, taking the paper and rushing back out to pull in the guys like I'd said.

I let myself slip back into the role I'd played for my tenure with the FBI. I was good at this, seeing the big picture and moving the pieces to where they needed to be, but damn it, I'd never wanted to use my skills for this reason. I'd been in hundreds of life of death situations, running a communications room, but this was the first one that made me feel like pulling the air into my lungs was a chore.

I drew a line horizontally across the board and wrote 1040 on it as a marker for what progress had occurred at this point. We were forty minutes into our timeline and had a CSI team, a technical team, a search team, and special operatives on the ground. Typically, I'd be celebrating the amazing response time, but this time, I found myself praying that it was enough.


	2. Bones

_None of the characters below are mine. I'm taking them all from JE's creativity._

_Jenny (JenRar) what a great ride this story has become, especially with you as the beta. Thank you for your help in crafting this chapter._

_A/N: After hearing from some of you that determining the POV was tricky, I wanted to point out that the character narrarating the chapter can be found in the chapter title. Thanks for reading along!_

**Chapter 2 – Bones – Little Details, Big Discoveries**

"Bones, Grab your kit; we need to roll," Hal said, moving away without giving me a chance to ask him a question about what in the hell was going on.

It wasn't unusual for him to have me shadow him when there was a crime scene to investigate. I didn't have the same technical background, but I was trained in working a scene and knew that Hal trusted me to not screw anything up. Still, he was known for being the quietest guy on staff, which was saying something among this group on non-talkers, so I wasn't shocked that he gave me nothing to work with about what we were doing.

I grabbed my kit, which stayed stocked in my desk, and then jogged to catch up to Hal, who had already hit the stairwell on his way to the garage. Five seconds before he hit my desk, I'd gotten the same text everyone else had. Stephanie was missing, and it was all hands on deck until we found her. We'd been called to our posts to await our orders, and I was glad I had a skill that allowed me to be put to use quickly, instead of having to wait, feeling completely useless at my desk.

The Explorer we would be taking was already backed up and ready to go by the time I got out of the stairwell, so I jumped in, barely getting my door shut before Hal hit the accelerator. Even if I hadn't gotten the text alert, I would have known something huge was up from the way he was acting. Hal was unflappable in his calmness, and there was nothing next to me even resembling the cool guy I'd worked with in the past.

"What's the story?" I asked, needing to know what we were up against.

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, and I knew whatever had happened was bad. "Didn't you get the voice mail?" he asked as a response.

"No, the text that Stephanie was missing came up just as you called me to come with you." I explained.

"Check your voice mail while we drive," he commanded, reminding me he was a naval officer, and despite his quiet exterior, he was more than capable of commanding.

I ripped my cell phone from my belt and dialed the complicated series of access numbers to get to my box. There was only one unheard message, so I knew what I needed was there.

I pressed one to play the message, and then heard the static as the recording picked up part of the way through a conversation. It sounded like Woody was talking to a man I didn't know. The crazy guy, who had an accent of some sort, admitted that he had Stephanie and he'd hurt her. The sound of her screaming made my hand tighten down on the phone enough that I heard the casing crack. I forced myself to relax, not wanting to break the phone until I got through the whole message. We had three and a half hours to find her, or she would die. After the message finished, I couldn't make myself delete it. I knew there was a master copy and every guy at RangeMan had received it, so it wasn't like I needed to keep it for the official record, but since we had no clue who had her, or where she was, that scream might be the last sound I would hear from her, and I couldn't force myself to delete it, even though I knew the pain in it would haunt my dreams.

When I shut my phone, we were only a block from Stephanie's apartment. I assumed we'd been sent here to comb over the place and see if we could produce some clues about who had her.

"I don't think I need to tell you how important it is that we don't screw this up," Hal began talking. "We need to get as much data as possible as quickly as possible. I don't want to miss anything that could lead us to who has Stephanie, but you don't need to worry about perfect protocol for building a case."

That last line might have seemed out of place, but I knew what he was getting at. Whoever had Stephanie wasn't going to trial, so we didn't need perfect crime scene techniques to prevent allegations that we'd tampered with the evidence. The whole arrest, trial, sentencing, and execution would occur RangeMan-style.

I nodded that I understood what he was getting at and grabbed my kit, housed in an oversized toolbox. I was proud of my skills in working a scene for evidence and knew what I could do had led us to many captures in the past, but what I was capable of was nothing compared to Hal's skills. The guy was a genius. Most people discounted him because he didn't talk much, and when he did, he usually looked like he was about to die of embarrassment. But as you got to know him, you realized his mind never stopped, so the external appearance was nothing compared to what was going on inside.

We took the steps and both of us came to a standstill when we reached the top landing and saw the splinters of her door. Somebody had hacked their way through the wood. They hadn't picked the lock or kicked it in; they had begun the abduction by instilling as much fear as possible by slowly threatening her with each blow of the ax or hammer that they'd used to claw their way in. Right away I wondered why we weren't alerted that she'd been taken. This would have made more than enough noise to wake up a neighbor who should have called the police.

"It was an ax," Hal stated, as though he knew what I'd been thinking.

"How do you know?" I couldn't stop myself from asking.

"I'll be glad to take you to school later, but for now, take my word for it. A big, fireman-style ax was used to get through that door," he stated as fact.

Experience had taught me that he was usually right. I knew we were pushed for time here, or Hal would have explained it to me. He'd never refused to teach me something when I'd asked before. I looked over at him to let him know I understood, but stopped without speaking after seeing the expression on his face. There was no hint of the "awe shucks" guy that usually lived there. Hal was pissed, and even though it would be easy to say that was no big deal, because he was a science geek, one couldn't ignore that he was also freaking huge and trained to kill. This was probably the first time I'd ever seen anything in him that bore evidence of the other side of his training and personality.

We slipped on rubber gloves, although I wasn't sure why, if we were more interested in getting to the truth than doing this by the book.

Laying on the floor as soon as we entered was a big red ax with a comfort grip handle and a pick point on the back. Damn, he was good.

"Dust that for prints," he said, pointing to the ax. I think we both hoped we'd get lucky and have some names soon to send back to the control center.

Hal took a moment to set up the laptop that was in his bag, and I knew we'd begin processing things as we came across them to get the answers that much faster.

I opened my kit and started running through the motions of searching for any evidence of the bastards that had taken Stephanie. In the background, I heard Hal on the phone, talking to someone about getting a direct link to Silvio in Miami in order to have a modified print database of people connected with Ranger's past cases. I knew from experience, it could take hours to get a hit back when we used standard law enforcement databases. If Silvio could pull something like that together, it could potentially save us a ton of time.

After he hung up, he stood in the center of the room and did a slow three-sixty, taking in everything at once. I'd seen him work a room before and knew he was trying to get a feel for what happened in order to come up with the best plan of attack.

"Son of a bitch!" I heard him yell from the living room.

I had a job to do, so I stayed where I was, knowing that he probably just needed to get that out in order to get down to business. There was also a part of me that knew that if Hal was responding like that, whatever he'd seen must have been huge, and in order to keep my focus, I needed to stay the hell away from it and finish this first.

We hit the jackpot, and I lifted three perfect prints from the handle of the ax. Did people not own gloves? Why would somebody be foolish enough to break into her apartment and basically sign a letter of confession about who they were?

I brought the strips I'd used to lift the prints into the living room and saw Hal bent over the couch, scraping blood samples from a cushion. It seemed like an awful lot, but I knew that some cushions were treated so that instead of absorbing liquid, it tended to spread, making it look worse than it was.

Without lifting his eyes, he asked, "You remember how to scan them in?"

Hal had showed me a few weeks ago, but when I'd asked when I could use the computer to put in data, he'd smiled and said, "When I think you're ready, grunt."

I guess the situation was pretty damned pressing if I was getting promoted in responsibility and allowed to touch his computer. This wasn't a RangeMan standard issue piece of electronics. This was Hal's own mobile science lab, and he was weird about letting people even stand too close to it.

"What database should I run it through?" I asked once I had saved the three prints in his analysis software. While I was waiting for him to respond, I saw a new option appear on the screen, labeled, "Ranger's Case History."

"Use the one from Silvio," Hal responded, after putting some blue liquid in the bottle with some of the blood splatters he'd scraped up.

I wasn't even going to ask how he knew it would be there; I just hit run on the program and moved on to ask what I should do next.

I tried to keep my attention on Hal and not let myself be distracted by the devastation of the living room. I needed to keep my focus to be helpful here. Just the quick glance I'd given to the room when I entered showed me that most everything had been destroyed. Either Stephanie had put up one hell of a fight, or they had nearly killed her here. Neither of those were something I could focus on at the moment, so I intentionally blanked my mind and waited on an order. Sometimes, a background in the military made life easier, because you could shut off your emotions and just follow directions until the stress of a situation was behind you. Fortunately, I worked in an organization where I trusted the people handing out the orders.

"Go run her bedroom," he instructed, before adding, "Don't get lost in the mess; just look for areas where there might be clues about who got her. We don't need to reconstruct what happened yet, so just focus on identifying anybody that was in this apartment."

"Got it," I replied, stopping only long enough to pick up my kit.

The first thing I noticed when I got into her bedroom was that her window had been boarded up. The glass was still intact, so whoever took her had first blocked off her only escape route, before scaring the shit out of her by crashing through her front door. She was a sitting duck, unable to get away.

I picked up the wireless phone on her nightstand and pressed the talk button, not overly surprised that it didn't have a signal. The creeps had cut her house phone line too which explained why she hadn't called us when the noise began in the living room.

I dusted around the window and saw it was covered with prints. They were primarily smaller than what I'd gotten from the ax, which made me speculate that they were Stephanie's. There were smudges all over the glass, as though she'd tried to lift the window and not been able to make it move. I tried and saw right away it had been locked somehow from the outside, probably nailed shut before they put the wood up, completely blocking her exit.

I fed the new prints into the computer, and then returned to the bedroom and noticed only her sock drawer had been disturbed. I thought that was strange. Most stalkers either ignored her clothes or ruined them all, but if they were going to target only one section of her wardrobe, I would have expected it to the middle top drawer that we all knew contained her lingerie. Why go for socks?

I looked at the drawer closer and noticed it was smeared on the bottom with blood. It looked like a hand had been slick with it when they opened the drawer from the bottom and rooted around, looking for something in particular. The highest concentration of stain inside was around her stockings.

"Why would criminals need women's hose?" I asked aloud.

When Hal's voice spoke from the door, I jumped. "My guess would be for a make-shift tourniquet."

Looking around at the biologicals present, that made sense. "For who?" I asked, hoping for good news, but knowing better than to hold my breath for it.

Hal tossed me a vial and said, "Scrape first, talk second."

I understood what he meant. Quickly isolating a section of material in the drawer that had a high concentration of blood, I began extracting it to put in the vial.

I handed it to him when I was finished and noticed he was lightly touching the doorframe. There were scratches in the paint, which would be consistent with someone trying to hang on while being forced out against their will, causing their fingernails to dig into the paint. He bent down and ran his gloved hand over the carpet at the doorframe, and then lifted two chips of something that were white on the back and bright red on the flip side.

"What color were Stephanie's fingernails?" he asked me.

I could have been offended, but knew this wasn't the time to argue. I had a thing for sexy fingernails. There was something about the promise of them being run down my back that made me notice a woman's hands. Stephanie had figured that out about me one day when we were working together and she caught me staring at her hands while typing. That was contrary to what most guys looked at when they were working with her, so she'd leaned in and said, "Cotton Candy."

I'd made some strange sound of not understanding what cotton candy had to do with getting busted while lusting after the image of her fingernails on me.

She'd clarified, apparently being fluent in non-coherent noises. "That's the name of the color. I took my nieces with me for a manicure over the weekend, and they picked the shade because of how very pink it was. I usually like something bolder, but I figured I could live with this for a while."

From then on, nearly anytime she got a new color, I tended to notice, and because that was my own private fetish, she seemed to go out of her way to show it to me. It wasn't that unusual for me to share the name of the color with the guys.

It began on a distraction, where she walked in wearing all black, and I knew her fingers were the same color, because she'd told me she was wearing Midnight Secrets. When I told that to Lester, he'd nearly passed out from laughter, but when he'd straightened back up after a particularly violent sounding growl from Ranger, he had managed to agree that any secrets she wanted to share with him at midnight would be eagerly received. I'm pretty sure Lester had unfortunately had an early morning appointment on the mats the next day.

I found the names amusing, and I loved it when she would come over and show me her newest selection. It was something that she did only for me, and never once did she ask why I liked it. I figured it was because it didn't matter to her why I enjoyed it; she just did it because it was something special between us. Of course, after I commented about the color, or the name, which was typically funny, she would test out her nails by scratching my back or running her fingers through my hair. That brief sixty seconds of contact was enough to spur some damned exciting fantasies at night. I knew I'd never have her as mine, and in a lot of ways, that was for the best. The fact that I had a strange sexual hang-up over a woman's fingernails was the least of my weird obsessions, but knowing that despite that, she accepted me without judgment, always made me want to look out for her.

"Bones," Hal called out with an edge, before repeating his question. "What color were her nails?"

I shook my head to clear it of thoughts that weren't helpful and replied, "Sin…the name of the red she was wearing was called Sin."

"Get to work," he called out, before leaving me alone in the bedroom to finish collecting any data I could.

I could hear him working on the laptop, banging the keys hard in a way contrary to how he usually treated his baby. Occasionally, I heard the clanking of glass, meaning he was doing his mad scientist routine, and then, as I was pulling some black hair fibers from the floor near the doorway, I heard the laptop ding with the results indicator. We'd gotten something back, and it took all my control not to jump up and run in to see what we'd learned.

I kept my hands busy, pulling more clues from her bedroom, where I was betting the initial struggle took place, and listened as Hal got on his phone.

"I've got some information from Stephanie's place," Hal announced to whoever he'd called.

"There were prints on the tool used to break in belonging to a Delgado Juarez. He's a lesser known nephew of Hernando Juarez from Columbia." There was silence from the den for a while, before he asked if they wanted any details from her apartment. "Negative," he responded to a question I couldn't hear. "I haven't found anything yet that proves Hernando was here, but that would certainly be my guess."

I didn't bother pretending to work as Hal gave his report. I just knelt on the floor and listened in.

"It appears they began by sealing her bedroom window, and then breaking in through the front door with an ax. Based on the pattern of destruction, I'd say she tried to hide in the back room, but was apprehended in there. A struggle ensued, where she sustained a flesh wound of some sort."

He paused as the person listening asked a question. "We've got a significant amount of blood that is her type, but I can't do a DNA analysis here. If you want to consider it good news, there is even more blood that's not her type, and there's a slug that came from a .38 in the wall of her kitchen. My guess is they hurt her in the bedroom and dragged her against her will to the living room, thinking they would easily get her to the waiting vehicle, but she managed to get to her purse that was in the living room somehow and use the single bullet. There is blood on the bullet, so it must have been a through and through to one of her kidnappers, producing enough damage they needed to do some field triage to treat it."

He paused once more, and then finished his report. "Scattered on the floor were some graphic photos of two bodies, male and female, that had been killed after being worked over. My guess is they showed the pictures to Stephanie, trying to say Ranger had done the damage depicted."

My fist tightened up once again, and I put my hands together to control myself as I thought of how they came in trying to take Stephanie out on every possible front. They used fear to intimidate her, they used physical pain to weaken, and then they tried psychological damage by trying to rip away the faith she'd always held in Ranger.

Hal began talking again. "I'm thinking there were three people at a minimum involved in getting her out, but in the end, they drugged her. There was a hypodermic needle on the floor, but I don't have the equipment to analyze what they used."

My head fell so that it hung down, and I tried to force myself to let go of the emotions boiling up in me. Hal would say to just focus on the facts until that was all I could see, so I forced my head up and still only saw the evidence of what had happened to her so far. I shut my eyes, acknowledging my first attempt to shut out what she'd been through was a complete failure.

Then it hit me how I must look right now. I was kneeling on the floor with my hands together and my head down, my eyes closed. If someone walked in, they would probably assume that I was deep in prayer. I went to church every time I went back home, but that was the only time I found myself kneeling and calling out to someone outside of my RangeMan team for help.

Still, if ever there was a time when we needed help from someone more powerful than Ranger, it would be now. With that thought, I found myself relaxing and my mind. My right hand touched my forehead, and then moved to my stomach, before touching each shoulder and stopping over my heart.

_God, I know this isn't where you usually hear from me, but this is an emergency, and I need your help. Actually, no, I don't need it, but Stephanie does. I wouldn't ask if it was just for me, I mean, I know that some of the shit I've done in my life means I don't really deserve to call in any favors, but this is Stephanie, and she's…well, she's worthy._

_I know you know what's going on, so I just want to ask you to help her. Help her to hold on and not give up until we can find her. Give her the strength to keep fighting and give us something to work with so that we can find her. Oh, and if you could give us the chance to come face to face with the bastards – I mean bad guys – that did this to her, then we'll be sure to send them straight to you for an ultimate judgment._

I didn't know what else to add, since I was used to the priest or a lay reader basically saying the words for me, but in the end, I decided it wouldn't hurt to try the trick that always bought us favors from Stephanie and added, _please_.

This time, when I opened my eyes, I found I could see the scene without my rage clouding my vision. From my lower vantage point, I looked around once again, and my eyes fell on something shiny just under her dresser. I moved closer and picked up a silver medallion on a chain that had been broken at the clasp.

The front had an angel most soldiers recognized. It was Michael, the archangel, with his sword of judgment. On the back was the name Alberto in a fancy script. I stood up and carried it into the living room, just as Hal shut his phone.

"What's that?" he asked, zeroing in on the necklace.

I handed it to him and pointed out how the clasp had been stretched and broken. My guess was that it had been ripped from the neck of the person wearing it by Stephanie and thrown down when it no longer provided leverage for her. Hal did the fastest print job I'd ever seen, before performing a lateral comparison of the prints not belonging to Stephanie to the ones from the Juarez family he already had open. There was an instant hit, saying the necklace belonged to Hernando.

"Son of a bitch," Hal exclaimed. Without me asking, he explained, "It looks like we know who has Stephanie, but I'm not sure that's going to be helpful."

"Why not?" I asked. Anytime you knew your enemy was a good thing in my book.

Hal picked up a picture and handed it to me. It was of two dead bodies that had been worked over horribly. On the bottom of the page, someone had written in the names Alberto and Maria. Hal explained by touching the body that I presumed was Alberto Juarez and saying, "That's Hernando's brother, and my guess is that he is trying to avenge his brother and his wife being killed by Ranger on a mission. And since Alberto's wife died, too, Hernando has no intention of Stephanie living, but even if she does, he's going to want her to look like this."

I opened my mouth and took deep breaths; knowing that little trick would work to hold off nausea. But looking at the cuts and bruises on the woman in the photo and thinking of that kind of damage being done to Stephanie made me want to hurl.

"What's the plan?" I asked, unsure if we needed to stay here now that we had an ID.

Hal opened his phone once more and said, "Woody, we've got confirmation now."

There was a brief pause before he continued. "Yeah, Stephanie's been kidnapped by Hernando Juarez. Based on the pictures and a necklace in her apartment, my guess is she's been taken to avenge the killing of Alberto and his wife Maria."

There was a long pause, and then Hal replied, "Will do."

As soon as he disconnected the call, he looked at me and said, "Pack up."

"Where are we going?" I called back over my shoulder as I returned to her bedroom for my kit.

"Warehouse on the waterfront where she's being held," Hal explained.

"They found her?" I asked, ready to hit my knees and begin thanking God for watching over our little angel.

I came back in time to see him make a face. "Yes, but they can't reach her yet. There are too many traps and triggers. I think they are hoping that we can help them identify the threats to clear a path to where she is."

I glanced at my watch and saw we'd been working here for thirty minutes; we were down to just three hours left to go to save Stephanie.

As we walked down to the truck, I threw out another thought to Heaven. _You don't need her yet, God. Leave us our one piece of __Heaven on Earth__ and take one of __us, instead__._ I'd gladly go to meet my maker if it meant sparing her this suffering.

Then I refused to let myself go down that road again. I couldn't think about Stephanie losing her life. I'd take a page from Hal's book and just focus on the clues, moving us one step closer until we had her safely in our arms.

_Amen._


	3. Hector

_JE created all the characters below, I just took them past their one moment of fame and tried to give them a longer and better life._

_Jenny (JenRar) thank you so much for your tireless work as the beta on this story. From the vetting out of the idea to the final comma check, you've been wonderful_.

_A/N: Please note, dialogue in italics is spoken in Spanish – I refuse to put you through reading translations for a chapter from Hector's POV. It is important to note that the italics do not extend for the whole chapter._

**Chapter 3 – Hector – Getting Inside at 1100 Hours**

"_All right, Hector__, you're up_," Tank bellowed from his spot beside the RangeMan van we were using as our communication area.

I watched as Cal subdued the two dogs that were patrolling the perimeter. They'd both seemed wild and ready to attack when we arrived. Quite frankly, I would have just shot them both and moved on, but Tank said until we knew how the place had been rigged, he didn't want any gunfire, if it could be avoided. One stray bullet might set off a reaction we had not anticipated, and that wasn't a risk he was willing to take.

Cal has a way with animals, and he opened the gate and walked right in there with the dogs, barking out commands like he owned the place. I recognized a few words in English, and I know he tried Spanish, but it wasn't until he used a different language in a loud voice that the snarling animals went instantly to his side. With the animals secured and left to have a snack in a waiting truck, I was given access to cut the gas lines into the building. I had hacked into the city's server and gotten the codes, so once Cal was out of the fenced in area, I cut the supply of gas, and then we removed the homemade assembly that was designed to turn on a gas stream that would hit a small pilot light if anyone crossed the threshold of the entrance to the building.

Tank felt like it was important for us to systematically remove every trap as we encountered it. He refused to have something literally blow up in our faces because we all jumped in at once and tried to work the problem from various angles. I had enough faith in Tank to follow his orders, despite the fact that my instincts were screaming for someone to just walk in there and grab Stephanie and run like hell back out to us.

After I was positive the gas was no longer able to be used as a weapon, I nodded to Tank, and he yelled, "Ram!"

No one was talking and we were all super alert, so there was no reason to be so loud in commanding the next person forward, except that it reminded us all that we were making progress.

Ram had his tool box in hand and took off to the door. RangeMan owned a bomb squad suit designed to keep him from getting burned in an explosion, but I'd never seen him wear it. I'd overheard Lester ask him why that was, and he'd played it off like it was no big deal, before saying, "If I do my job right, I don't need it."

Les had then followed up by asking what happened if he slipped up, and Ram had just smiled and answered, "Then I don't deserve to escape the same fate as whatever was being threatened with the bomb. If I fail, I don't want to survive to have to live with the results of what my stupidity caused to happen."

Les had shaken his head and walked away, but I'd fully understood what he'd meant, and I respected him for it. Few people really took responsibility for their lives anymore, and it meant something that Ram still did. That old school sense of pride stuck out to me.

It took him ten seconds to look over the device stuck on the door, before he bent down and pulled out a pair of wire cutters. He was wearing a mic, so we heard him say, "It's a simple device to blow when the doors are opened. I'm not saying it wouldn't kill anybody that was trying to get in, but it's not difficult to diffuse, either. A bomb expert definitely didn't make this. Hell, a fifth grader could have done it with a simple circuit."

With that speech, which Lester dutifully translated to Spanish on my behalf, we saw him return the cutters to the tool box, and then pull the handle on the door. It opened easily, leaving Ram there with the brass in his hand, waiting a moment more to be sure there was no secondary detonation he had not picked up on. Satisfied that he'd done it, Ram unscrewed the device where it had been mounted, and then turned around smoothly to carry the bomb over to the detonation container we used to safely dispose of explosives.

"_Hector, go scope it out_," Tank commanded in his big voice.

I grabbed my small tool bag, more out of habit than need. It's what I took into service calls with RangeMan, and it held most of the basic hand tools that might be needed. I knew he was sending me in for two reasons. First, if there was another trap, I might be able to diffuse it, but more importantly, my background wasn't as honorable as a lot of the men here. I began living mostly on the streets, and by the time I was fifteen, I was the go to man for my gang for scoping out a house to break in. I had a way with finding vulnerable points in security systems and working around them to get to whatever I wanted in a room. I had a feeling Tank was hoping I could use that ability to get to Stephanie and figure out how to get her back out.

I opened the door slowly and was surprised to see that past the dark entranceway, the open warehouse beyond was fully lit. At least we wouldn't need to work this whole operation in the dark.

The entranceway was the first roadblock, and I knew better than to just step in. It was narrow and had the remains of a time clock that had no doubt been the means of monitoring staff when this was a factory and warehouse in its prime. Based on the rust and amount of dust, it was years past that point now.

The room was narrow, most likely designed that way to keep the workers entering in a single file line to prevent a struggle to get to the time clock. At first glance, the room looked clean, but just before I took a step in, I noticed a tiny green dot on the floor in the middle. Any regular sized guy would be forced to step on that dot, which would break the beam of light generated from the ceiling, to pass through to the warehouse, so I knew it was a trigger of some sort.

We were all rigged up with a mic and an earpiece receiver, so I alerted the men. "_There's__ a trigger of some kind in the entrance. I need to find out what it's connected to in order to move forward._"

"_You need any back up?_" Tank asked.

"_No room in here for anyone else,_" I replied.

It was true; the space was too small for two men to work in, but more than that, I didn't work with a partner. It wasn't that I didn't trust the guys here – I knew most of them were more than competent in their respective areas – but I was a loner and needed to be by myself to concentrate.

I couldn't see any explosives, but there _was_ a wire, painted white to make it blend in better against the ceiling. Of course, the ceiling was dirty enough that the glistening pure white stood out against it, making it easier to spot and follow. Still, it did show that whoever had done this had taken their time and tried to think through how to make it as difficult as possible, which would mean we needed to be that much more thorough and careful.

"_There's a line I need to follow, but I'll have to go blind into the warehouse to see what it leads to,_" I said, knowing the longer I was quiet, the more the stress would be building up at the van.

"_Is there another way to get around going into the unknown?_" Tank asked, trying to protect us all and succeed at this all at once.

"_No,_" I answered him emphatically, flattening myself against the wall to keep from accidently tripping the marker in the entrance. Once I moved past that light, I tried to follow what type of trigger it was connected to. I moved in small increments, hoping there wasn't another trap waiting that I would set off while concentrating on this one. Mounted to the wall on the backside of the doorway to the warehouse was a small box that I knew contained whatever threat had been designed to be detonated by breaking that beam of light.

I was almost too short to reach it, but I was able to get the cover off and discover a high powered canister of tear gas that would spray down on anyone who entered. That was easy enough to disengage, so I clipped the wire to the power above it, preventing it from receiving a signal, and then pulled a grenade trigger pin that I kept in the bottom of my tool bag and used it to block the mechanism on the tear gas from engaging to fire. With that done, I reported over the mic that the first threat had been cleared.

"_Continue on,_" Tank said, before softening his voice slightly and saying, "_Any sign of Stephanie?_"

"_Not yet,_" I replied as my eyes scanned the vast open space for additional potential threats.

From my position at the door, I could easily see an automatic weapon aimed in my general direction. There were a few other mounted boxes that were too far away for me to focus on to identify, but in my gut, I knew they were all designed to either kill or stop anyone from entering the building.

I assume my silence was getting to Tank, as he spoke up once more and said, "_You need to talk to us, man._"

"_I can spot four possible threats around the outside walls, but I can't see what will set them off,_" I replied, getting them up to speed.

"_Any sign of Steph?_" he repeated his earlier question.

I didn't see her, but there were a few massive crates placed on the warehouse floor, which could either contain her, or be preventing me from having an unobstructed view of her position.

"Stephanie!" I called out loudly, knowing I was probably deafening all the guys by yelling with a throat mic on. "You here, chica?"

I shut my eyes, as though losing that sense would somehow make my ears more sensitive, and waited for a response. At first, I didn't hear anything, which caused my heart to drop; I assumed she was either already gone or we were not at the right place. Just before I asked Tank what he wanted me to do, I heard a faint sniff, like someone was crying and trying to minimize the effects.

"Stephanie!" I yelled once more. "I can hear you." I wanted to be sure she knew we were here.

The warehouse was so big, it would be difficult to pinpoint her location, because the echo on top of the muffled sound she made wouldn't give me much to trace.

"Talk to me," I encouraged her, continuing to stand still and wait.

I had to be patient, which was usually no problem for me, but today, I found it nearly impossible.

Finally, I heard her voice, and it seemed like it was behind a crate near the center of the room. "Hector? Is that you?"

"Si, it's me, chica," I assured her, smiling in relief just from the sound of her shaky voice.

"You can't come in," she said a little stronger this time.

"Why not?" I wondered why she didn't want me to come to her. I would have thought she'd be relieved to know we were here to save her.

"He's rigged the whole building so that if you walk in, things will happen and you'll get hurt. You need to leave me here and tell the guys to stay away. I don't want anybody to get hurt because of me."

With each word, her voice evened out and began to grow in strength, assuring me I'd gotten the right location.

"What can you tell me about the traps?" I asked, hoping she might have seen something.

"Not much," she replied, before sniffing once more. "I know there are explosives, a couple of guns, and a nail gun that are set up to go off if you walk toward me."

That explained the boxes I could identify. "How did the man that put you here get out if everything is covered?" I asked, curious if she had any info I could use.

There were a few more sniffles, before she made a sound of frustration, and then said, "I think he crawled out, but I couldn't see him to be sure. I know he got down on the concrete on his stomach before he left, and I could hear a dragging sound, like a person crawling on their belly."

That was pretty smart. Few people would think to do a search and rescue operation on their bellies. I looked on the wall and saw a fire extinguisher mounted in front of me. It was old and probably didn't work, but on the off chance it did, that might be helpful in getting the triggers identified. The first one was set off with a beam that, when broken, created a response; perhaps they were all done that way. With the lights on in the room, I couldn't see any tiny beams of light, but a cloud of smoke would allow any other lasers to show up.

"Tank," I called out, knowing he'd heard everything she'd said. 

"_Go ahead,_" he encouraged.

"Send in Lester, but have him stop in the doorway to the warehouse," I suggested. From my vantage point, if that extinguisher worked, I could move and spray, and Lester could spot any lights.

I heard him yell out for Santos, even though I knew Lester had heard my request in his own earpiece.

It was only a matter of seconds before Lester appeared and asked what he could do. I explained the plan and warned him that he'd need to look quickly, because I didn't know how much powder the old extinguisher would hold.

I grabbed the big red container, pulled the safety plug, dropping it in my bag at my feet, and then began at the floor and hit the switch to engage the spray. I was so relieved when the billow of smoke came out, turning to look at Lester in time to see him hold up a hand. I stopped and waited.

"There," Lester said, pointing to a space about thirty inches off the floor. "There's a series of lights that run parallel to the floor so that you can't walk into the room past where you are."

"All right," Tank started. "So we gear up for a low approach. It's live barbed wire practice," he announced to the men, bringing up the basic training exercise most of them had shared, where they'd crawled under barbed wire with bullets whizzing over them to learn to stay low and cover great distances.

"Shoot it straight in the direction you think she is, and we'll see if there's anything else," Lester suggested.

I turned it on once again and tried to cover as much space as the limited force available would allow.

Lester held up his hand, just as the powder began to diminish. "There." He pointed with his finger at two lines running ceiling to floor at angles. If we tried to approach straight from the door, even on our bellies, we'd risk tripping those lines.

"The first one was powered with electricity from the building. I could cut the power, which would deactivate all the traps," I suggested.

"No!" Stephanie yelled.

"Why not, chica?" I asked, wondering what else she knew that she hadn't shared.

"I don't know exactly, but I heard two men talking while they were setting things up, and one of them said there were little battery back ups for everything, so that if the triggers were turned off, everything would ignite automatically a few seconds later," she explained.

I had to assume we'd bypassed that failsafe when I put the pin in the teargas at the door so that it couldn't go off. The more this went on, the more I had to both admire and fear the lengths this man went through to keep us out.

"If we aren't in the building, no one would get hurt," Lester told her, obviously ready to get to her, in favor of me cutting the power.

"True, but there's something aimed at me, so if you cut the power, the one over my head engages, too," she said, successfully eliminating the easy solution.

"Damn!" Lester responded, summing up the way I felt, as well.

"All right, then I'll chalk a path to Stephanie on the floor that avoids the cross beams," Lester responded.

Almost as if he'd made it appear, Brett walked up behind him and put something red in his hand. I knew it was the chalk he needed. "Talk me through it," Lester said, looking up at me.

I nodded and said, "Mark the door first to show the height," I told him, knowing they'd set it high enough everybody could make it, but wanting to be sure they understood how much room they had to work with, too.

There was enough haze left from the fire extinguisher that we could both see the faint color of the lights. He made a couple of bold marks on both sides of the doorway, slightly below the lights and then got on his stomach, flat to the ground.

He kept the chalk in his right hand, and as he moved himself forward, he made a wide mark to line the safe way to approach. It took longer than I wanted for him to get across the room to the crate where I heard her voice. I would call out directions, and he would adjust, blindly following me, trusting that I wouldn't lead him into harm's way, and probably thinking that even if he was injured, it would be in the process of saving Stephanie, which would make it more than worth it.

When he reached the crate, he was past the point of the haze I'd made with the smoke, so I had no way of guiding him. "_You see anything else I should be aware of?_" Lester called out to me.

"Nada," I replied, wishing I could be more helpful.

"Hey, Beautiful," Lester called out to her for the first time. "You ready for some company?"

I heard her let out a sound that was a cross between a sob and a laugh, before she said, "You'd better come to the left side of the box. I think there's something on the side on the right, but I don't know what it is."

After clarifying that she meant her left, not Lester's, he made his way forward, stretching his arm out first and pausing before pulling his body, in case he set something off. It was definitely better to lose a hand than a head, so I understood his thinking, even though in the back of my mind, I could hear a clock ticking, warning me we were running out of time.

After he disappeared from my field of vision, I waited for some confirmation that he'd found her.

It took longer than I'd thought it would, before he said, "Beautiful, where are you?"

"I'm down here," her voice called out.

I was hoping it meant something to him from his point of view on the floor, because from where I was standing, we were on the ground floor, so I couldn't understand how a "down here" was possible.

"Ah shit, Beautiful. What in the hell have they done to you?" I heard Lester ask, his voice losing all traces of the good humor that it always carried.

I forced myself to shut them out, deciding to find a way to disable some of the threats in order to keep busy. "Tank, I'm going to take out the remaining boxes one at a time in order to eliminate the need for following the path Santos made, but in the meantime, the guys need to stay on the left of the line he drew, in order to avoid tripping something we don't know about."

"Got it," he responded, granting me permission to do what I was going to do anyway.

I tried not to listen as Lester spoke to Stephanie. I could hear her voice, and the way it was drenched in fear broke my heart. She had done nothing to deserve this, except love us, and now she was stuck in a hole of some sort, looking death right in the face. I'd always known life was unfair, and I never complained, because I knew that I hadn't done everything right, so I didn't deserve the outcomes to work in my favor. But Stephanie – she hadn't taken advantage of people, hurt people to advance her rank, and she definitely hadn't taken the lives of people out of revenge as I had.

Everyone saw the tears on my face and assumed that meant I'd pulled the trigger twice, but in truth, those represented the ones I'd done and regretted – the people that deserved to be cried over. My shoulder had tears for each of the lives I'd taken, regardless of reason. There were enough marks there to look like a rainstorm instead of isolated drops to memorialize a death. No, my life was far from innocent, despite how much I'd tried to change since Ranger found me and offered me another way to live.

I moved as fast as I could, staying at the perimeter I knew was safe until I found a rail that I could reach and pull myself up to access the second floor that ran around the outside of the building. From that level, I could avoid the low lying beams and reach the weapons they'd set up higher on the walls. I decided I no longer cared if I got hurt; my mission was to eliminate the threats in the building.

I found several other trip wires that I pulled apart as I encountered them. It was easy to shut off the systems to spring the two grenade boxes set to pull a pin and drop a detonation. Farther around the edge, I reached the old model Uzi and got the trigger mechanism disassembled. The most difficult one was the nail gun, which had been mounted to the wall. In the end, I had to remove the battery pack, and then cut the power to the gun. Once I was fairly confident nothing would inadvertently set it off, I pulled out the nail cartridge so that it didn't have anything to fire.

Based on my assessment, I'd eliminated every threat except the one that hung directly over Stephanie's head. I had no idea how to get that high up, and even if I could reach it, I wasn't sure what it was. There appeared to be a small barrel with liquid of some form in it. I had to assume that if the liquid reached Stephanie, it would be a bad thing. Beside that was a metal square that looked like cast iron, but that didn't make sense, because there wasn't much holding it up, and cast iron that big would be heavier than hell. Of course, if that's what it was and it fell on her, the combined weight and momentum from the distance of the fall would kill her for sure.

I needed help figuring out what that was, how to reach it, and then how to disarm it. Damn it, I wanted to be able to tell the guys that they could move around freely, but I had no way of knowing what the trigger was to make it go off. Until I could isolate what beam or action would set loose whatever was contained up there, we would have to approach her on the ground, using the chalk lines from Santos.

Knowing there was nothing else I could do, I took a photo of the mass on the ceiling with my phone and made my way back out to the operation center.

Tank saw me coming out and met me halfway, not bothering to tell the guys that followed him to stand down. I went back through everything I'd done and showed him the picture on my phone.

Tank looked at it, squinting, as though it would somehow tell him the answer, before handing it back to me and saying, "Send this to the comm center at Haywood and ask Woody to have Vince or somebody in tech enhance it and see if they can get any answers for us."

I nodded that I understood and took my phone back to follow his directions when he asked, much quieter, "How is she?"

"I didn't see her," I told him honestly. I'd not allowed myself to look down at her, other than to mark her location in relation to what was suspended above her. I knew it would be a mistake for me to see the damage that had no doubt been done to her body. I had a short fuse, and there were some images that I knew would ignite my need for vengeance, which could cause me to do something stupid and get us all killed.

Stephanie was hard as nails when she needed to be, but in truth, she was equally tender. She'd come down to visit me one day and tried very hard to apologize in Spanish for the extra work she'd caused me by shooting the security system Ranger had installed in her apartment. Honestly, I'd thought it was hilarious, especially listening to Ranger complain about how he would never be able to keep her safe in the criminal welcome center she called an apartment. I let her in on the secret that I could understand her just fine in English, and we'd begun talking. She proved herself to be a remarkable woman, and a fast friend to me.

A few months later, I'd had a desire to go dancing, to lose myself in the music. I wasn't seeing anybody and didn't really want to try and pick up a guy in one of my usual bars. I hadn't wanted the entanglement of a relationship then, which made me hesitant to ask anyone out, so I'd stopped by to see Stephanie. She'd claimed to not know how to dance, but was game for trying it anyway. We'd made quite a pair on the dance floor. She was a fast learner, and our nearly equal sizes made us very compatible. It was a great way to listen to music and get lost with another person, without it being sexual or there being an unrealistic expectation afterward.

From that night on, I'd tried to keep an eye on her, without being obtrusive. Of course, the one night I stayed in and didn't check on Stephanie was the one night someone had set their sights on her. No, I was right to not stop and look at the damage done because I'd missed a night at my post beside the only woman's body I'd ever been comfortable holding in my arms.

I could see that Tank was hoping for more, so I said, "She sounded scared and tired, but she's trying to hang on." I turned to walk away, knowing I had nothing more to add at the moment.

I was nearly to the van, when Tank called out, "Hey, Hector."

I spun around to look at him and lifted my chin to ask what he wanted.

"You're speaking English."

I smiled, even though I wasn't amused.

"Why?" he pushed when I didn't respond to his statement.

I shrugged. "It seemed faster if nobody had to translate everything I said into English."

"But you've never used English before. Why start now?" He wasn't letting this go.

"I do it for her," I said honestly. "There's no room for me to hold out for Spanish with the time we've got. So, I use English for her."

"How long have you spoken English?" he followed up again, as though he thought I'd answer anything he asked about my private life.

"As long as you have," I replied, walking away, knowing we were the same age. I'd grown up in Jersey and gone to school here. Why people assumed I was only capable of understanding Spanish was beyond me. Just because I preferred it didn't mean I was limited to the language of my grandparents.

"I'll be damned," Tank answered. "Stephanie brought out another secret from among us."

I nodded as I kept moving. It was true that I proven to the men I could speak English, and I knew it was a surprise to many of them. In thinking about it, though, I knew there was no detail of my life that I would withhold if it meant getting Stephanie out of this alive. She'd brought a measure of joy to me, waking up parts of my heart that I thought were eternally dead. Letting go of my fiercely held privacy was nothing compared to what she'd given to me.

My private life in exchange for her making it out of this alive was a deal I was willing to make.


	4. Lester

_I take no credit for the characters below who were all created by JE._

_Jenny (JenRar), I likewise do not take any credit for the sound sentence structures, and appropriate word usage below since you corrected my mistakes as the beta on this story. Thanks!_

**Chapter 4 – Lester – What Have They Done to Beautiful?**

I came around the corner of the rickety crate and was surprised to not see anything resembling the curly haired woman I was expecting. "Beautiful," I called out. "Where are you?"

"I'm down here," her voice said wearily, drawing my attention to a hole in the ground a few feet ahead of me.

I made my way quickly to her and got my first glimpse into the three foot circular hole that was her prison at the moment. Her face was tilted up, as though trying to get a glimpse of me and granting me access to see how damaged she was. There were bruises, cuts, dried blood, an eye so swollen I couldn't see any of the blue that normally greeted me, but despite it all, when my face came into view, her busted lips turned up in an attempt to smile.

Usually, I tried to defuse tense situations with humor, but there wasn't a joke in the world that could take away the pain she'd obviously endured, so I didn't bother, going for honesty, instead. "Ah shit, Beautiful. What in the hell have they done to you?"

"Way to make a girl feel special, Lester," she replied, drawing a smile out of me, despite the knot that was forming in my stomach.

"You know you'll always be my girl, but you also know I'd never lie to you," I told her quickly, trying to lighten my tone, but failing.

She glanced down into the hole she was standing in, and then looked back up to me. "I've got a few bumps and bruises."

That was bullshit that went well beyond just minimizing what she'd been through to keep us from suffering from the thought of it. "You know how when you don't want to talk about something, I'm the guy that you can count on to change the subject?" I asked.

"Yes," she agreed quickly, probably hoping I was going to do that for her now.

"I'll be glad to be that guy for you again, but before I can do it, I need to know what's doing in that pit," I told her, trying to keep the commanding tone away from her, but hoping she understood how serious I was about it.

Her shoulders fell, obviously not hearing what she hoping for. I waited, not wanting to push her for fear that she'd shut down. Eventually, my patience paid off, and she started talking.

"Some men took me, wanting information about Ranger. They wanted to know how to find him. When I didn't tell them anything, they tried to get me to call him so they could trap him, but I refused that, too. It didn't take me long to realize they weren't going to let me out of this alive, despite their promises, so I didn't see the point in helping them. I don't know what happened between the head guy and Ranger, but whatever it was, he's not going to stop until one of them dies."

All of that served to confirm what we'd gotten from Woody after Hal's sweep of her apartment. Juarez wanted Ranger to pay for the death of his brother and sister-in-law. I didn't insult her by asking why she didn't just break and tell them what they wanted to know. We all would have understood, and it might have saved her some of what she'd endured.

"After they gave up on the idea of me just telling them what they wanted, the leader guy put me in here. I couldn't catch everything he said, because I struggled to stay awake at first, but I know that I'm standing in some kind of gel-like liquid. I don't know what it is, but he did say if something gets added to it, it will explode into a ball of fire, and I know that if the level of the gel changes, it will auto release the liquid necessary to make it ignite."

Okay, so we definitely couldn't pick her up and run, because we ran the risk of an explosion. We also couldn't drain the pit, because that would change the level, and again, run the risk of hurting her. I guess if the clock got down to the end, we could try it anyway, but with nearly three hours still in our pocket, I wasn't ready to take that big of a chance with her life.

"Are you comfortable?" I asked, feeling stupid, but willing to do anything I could to bring her a little relief.

Tears appeared on her cheeks, made more evident by the fact that her face was so dirty, they left trails in the grime as they fell.

I reached out and wiped one away. "Tell me," I said as a whisper.

"My leg hurts. I'm pretty sure it's broken, but I can't move to take the pressure off of it. Right before they left, he gave me something; I felt much more awake and alert for a while. I hardly noticed the pain. But I think whatever that was is beginning to wear off, because it's getting harder to pay attention and the throbbing is picking up again."

"I'm guessing it was adrenaline, which would keep you going well past what your body could normally endure," I explained to her. "What makes you think your leg is broken?"

"One of the guys trying to get me to talk had a baseball bat…"

Luckily, she didn't keep going with that sentence. My mind was perfectly capable of imagining what they'd done with it, and it was making it damned hard to stay in control of my anger at the moment.

"Anyway, before they tossed me in here, I could see a little bit of the bone near my ankle, so I don't think I'm going to be lucky enough to have it turn out to be just bruised."

Fuck, she was standing on a leg with a compound break. I didn't even think something like that was physically possible. I took a couple of breaths to get my center focused back on her, instead of letting my anger take over.

I had a bit of an anger management issue. At least, that was what Ranger had called it when I freaked out on a mission and ran into a compound where a drug cartel was hiding after wiping out a village of mainly women and children to make a point that they were some kind of bad asses. Ranger had sat me down when we got back stateside and said that while I was great soldier and I had wiped out every single asshole in that compound, I could have been killed or gotten someone else on the team injured because I'd lost control. He told me I either had to learn to control the beast that sometimes took over when I got pissed, or I was done running missions with him. That day, I went to a bookstore and started buying books from self-help gurus, psychologists, psychiatrists, and anybody else that seemed to have an answer. It took a lot of work, but as I learned more about the human psyche, I gradually learned to control myself. Of course, laying on the ground and seeing the state Stephanie was in, hearing her talk about what she'd been through, was the greatest test I'd ever had of the years of work I'd done to master myself.

She brought me out of my struggle by speaking once more. "He warned me that I shouldn't try to sit or let myself fall, or it could splash the stuff at my feet, and then I'd go boom."

When she said boom, she made a gesture with her hands, and I saw something metal in her palm.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing, hoping that I could keep her talking.

She looked down and paused before responding. "This is my exit strategy."

I didn't get that at all. "Your what?"

"He said it was set up so that if any of this got overwhelming, all I had to do was push the button on the end and some plate strapped to me would come on and electrocute me. He promised it would only hurt for a quick minute, and then I'd be dead."

She was looking at the round object way too comfortably for my tastes. Normally, a person would fear something like that, but she'd obviously made some kind of peace with the idea that she might not make it out of this alive.

"Can I hold onto that for you?" I asked, not wanting her to have an out like that. Severe pain would make a person do things they wouldn't normally consider, and I had a feeling she was getting dangerously close to that point, where taking her own life was preferable to staying in agony with no hope of escape.

She shook her head no, and then explained, "It's attached to me somehow and won't come off until the whole vest comes off."

I reached down, seeing her shoulders were covered by something resembling a vest, but when my hand touched it, I realized it was metal. "Son of a bitch. What in the hell is this?" I couldn't stop myself from asking.

"I don't know, but it's heavy, and it's making standing up that much harder," she replied.

"Can I help you lift it off?" I hoped.

"I don't think it will come off," she said in that eerily level tone. "They soldered it on so I can't get out of it without something cutting through the metal."

"Where is the other seam besides at your shoulders?" I asked, hoping it would give us a way to cut through while she was stuck here. The tops were smooth, so they obviously hadn't soldered anything there to close the vest around her.

"Between my legs," she replied, fresh streaks appearing in the dirt on her face.

I didn't want to ask what was causing the new wave of agony. I told myself it was an increase in discomfort from partially standing on a broken leg, but in my heart, I wondered if it was the memory of them using heat high enough to melt metal right between her legs, sealing her into some sort of torture jacket that was most likely wired to kill her at a set time.

"Okay, so we won't work on improving your fashion at the moment," I said, attempting a little humor, and noticed the tears seemed to slow down. "I still think we can help you, though."

I tilted my head down to insure the mic I was wired with picked up on what I was saying. "Hey, Tank," I called out, waiting for the big guy to respond before continuing.

"Is Manny on site?" I asked, hoping like hell he was close.

"Affirmative," Tank replied, before asking, "Why?"

"I need him to come take a look at how Stephanie is positioned to see if there's a way to make some sort of sling to take a little weight off her legs without lifting her from the gel she's standing in," I explained, hoping our resident engineer could come up with a solution that I could not.

"He's on his way," Tank replied, just seconds before I heard Manny's voice at the doorway announced he was coming in.

"Stay down and follow the line I marked on the floor, and you should be all right," I advised, hoping that was true.

I could hear him moving, so I began assuring Stephanie that we were going to have company and that help was on the way. The eye that I could keep contact with never showed a sign of hope from my words, but I continued to talk to her, listening for Manny's arrival.

"Knock, knock," he called out when he rounded the edge of the crate. "Hey, Wifey," he said as he approached the pit. "I'm here."

She let out a sound that was a combination of relief and some other emotion, but she didn't attempt to speak in return. If it weren't obvious how fragile she was at the moment, that single act would have given her away. Stephanie was never rude, and even though Manny certainly understood her being quiet, normally, she would have said something in return.

I watched his eyes cover everything from the opening of the hole to the distance to the ground. If the situation wasn't so tense, I would have made a comment about being able to see the math calculations he was making as they passed across his eyes. Instead, I kept quiet.

"I can fix something up," he finally announced, putting the hint of a smile on her face.

"Can you work around me?" I asked him, not wanting to get in his way, but not really comfortable leaving her, either. There was still a look in her eye that I didn't trust. I knew she was at the end of her rope, and I didn't want to leave her until I was sure she had a knot tied to hold onto.

Manny nodded that he didn't need me to move, and then he turned to get access to the bag he'd dragged in with him. I ignored him as much as possible and focused on Stephanie, instead.

"This reminds me of a time when Carlos and I were kids and we were both staying with Abuela Rosa in Miami," I said, intentionally trying to come up with something so far fetched that she'd focus on me and not the situation around her. Her desire to live in denial land wasn't always the healthiest approach to problems, but I needed to get her mind away from where she was right now so she wouldn't focus on the easy out in her hand.

"What happened?" she asked, filling me with relief that her predictably curious nature had shown itself once more.

"We were maybe fourteen – at least, I was; I guess that would make Carlos fifteen, since we're a year apart," I said to set the stage, knowing the more details I gave her, the more likely it was that she would focus on me. "We had both been sent to stay with her for the summer by our moms, thinking that the old lady would whip some sense into us and get us back on the straight and narrow."

"Did it work?" she asked, her voice changing slightly.

I made a face of uncertainty. "I guess that depends on what scale you're grading on. Most people would say her methods were a complete success for Carlos, but it might have had the exact opposite affect on me."

"I would have thought that making Ranger bend would have been harder," she commented, giving my details so far some serious consideration.

"Carlos has always recognized true authority. He won't bow to any jackass throwing out orders, but when there is a real power behind it that he respects, he falls into line," I explained in the best way I could.

"And your Abuela Rosa has real power?" she asked, probably comparing her mental image of our grandmother to her Grandma Mazur. The two couldn't be more different.

"She definitely has power, and she knows how to wield it with fairness – and firmness – so it's hard for anyone to deny, despite her size. Plus, I think she got through to him by showing him his future if he didn't change his ways," I offered, hoping my cousin wouldn't ship me off to a third world country for betraying his confidence. Something told me he'd let it slide if it managed to save her life. Nobody knew exactly what these two shared, but it was crystal clear that whatever it was went way deep, and even though they denied it was possible, they belonged together.

"So what happened?" she asked, satisfied with my description of my grandmother enough to move on.

"We decided to go out, and since we were too cool to do any of the normal kid things like skateboard or play sports in the field at the nearby park, we went to the boardwalk not far from her house at the beach," I continued with the story.

"Les, I hate to break it to you, but this is nothing even remotely like a beach," she interrupted, rolling the eye that I could see.

"No, Beautiful, it's not," I agreed as I brushed some of her curls away from her face, "but I did get stuck in a tunnel."

"How?" She was smiling slightly, no doubt picturing me as I am now, instead of the scrawny teenager I'd actually been.

"We went to the boardwalk and saw some girls at the old closed pier who were standing close together. They were obviously drinking – several of them were well over the legal limit already – but they kept tossing back the booze. While we watched them, we noticed their tops were coming off, and that's when we got the bright idea to get closer, in case their bottoms followed," I said, not entirely sure how to explain the rest without making us both sound like total fools.

"Did the bottoms follow?" she wondered aloud to keep me talking.

I gave her a patented Santos crooked grin and nodded my head, while dragging out the words, "Oh yeah."

She made a sound that was close to a soft laugh, but the harsh situation she was surrounded by prevented her from truly letting go. I kept talking, knowing she needed me to keep her mind far away from where she was.

"We had one of those cheap C-110 cameras that were shaped like long rectangles, and it had a fresh roll of film in it. We could see a pipe running the length of the pier that was supposed to hold wires and other conduits but was unused and empty since this particular pier had been closed. The pipe wasn't solid, so someone could get their hands inside to reach whatever was in there, and that was where we got the bright idea that one of us should shimmy along inside the pipe until they were to the point where the girls were letting loose, and then try to snap a few pictures." I left out the part where we were going to develop them with multiple copies, and then sell them to the skateboarding punks that we knew had more money than sense and would have happily paid for pictures of naked women.

"Lester, I never took you for a peeping Tom," she teased, giving me all the motivation I needed to complete my shame in the eyes of the guys I worked with. I didn't give a shit what they thought of me, but damn it, I'd disclose every secret in my closet if it would give Stephanie the will to hang on.

"I wasn't so much a peeping Tom as I was a young idiot who failed to see the multiple flaws in a plan," I replied, wondering what had happened to the kid I was describing. The one who had no cares at all – neither the opinions of others, nor the consequences of my actions ever held me back from something I thought would be fun. People thought I was still that guy, but in truth, I was always holding back something. A quick glance in my hidden past didn't bring up a single life altering event that made me that way, but it did remind me it was years of enduring horrors that no human should ever have to face that altered the man I once was into what people saw today.

"What was a flaw in your plan?" she asked.

"Everything," I replied, shaking my head. "I made my way down the pipe easily enough, even though every joint I crawled over sliced open my knee and tore my shirt. But when I got to the girls, I realized I couldn't stick my head out the crack in the pipe, I could only fit my arm through, so I had no way to know what I was taking pictures of and had to aim blind. Of course, six drunk teenagers who see a camera in the hand of an arm with a body they can't see don't have the reasoning abilities to know the idiot holding the camera is just under the pier, and they started screaming bloody murder and ran off the pier, back to the shore, leaving their bathing suits behind them. I figured there was no point in hanging out any longer, since I doubted they would feel safe enough to come back and reclaim their clothes."

"You must have scared them to death," Stephanie commented, not really sounding all that worked up over it, but clearly enjoying my story.

I shrugged again, never really thinking about how the girls must have felt. "The problem was that the pipe was too narrow for me to turn around in, and when I started pushing myself backward, I found the bottom of the pipe was too rough to really slide over, but there wasn't enough height for me to crawl backward to get back out. I finally just decided to stop worrying about my knees and man up in order to get the hell back on land, so I pushed myself along a few feet, until my pants got caught on something at the top of the pipe. I couldn't go backward anymore without getting the world's most painful wedgie, and I couldn't go forward or my pants would get pulled off. I had to decide between losing my pants and having to face the world in my naked shame, or keeping my pants, but moving backward far enough to tear the part of my pants that were hung up on the pipe and give myself a horrible racking in the balls in the process."

"What did you do?" she asked with one of her smiles.

"I collapsed and refused to move at all. I couldn't decide between my manhood and my pride, so I didn't do a thing. It took a while, but Carlos finally decided to check on me, and I heard him calling my name while walking down the pier. I waited until he was right above me before answering, and then I told him why I wasn't moving."

"What did he do?" she asked, clearly full of faith in the man she called Batman.

"The bastard burst out laughing and had to sit down to pull himself together," I answered honestly.

That made her laugh, too, and even though it was soft and clearly not the full fledged laugh she usually gave us, it was enough that I felt like she'd bestowed a real honor on me by trusting me enough to give herself over to my story to let me lead her emotionally where I wanted her to go.

I felt like I should redeem Ranger in her eyes and finished the story. "After he got that out of his system, he told me to hang tight, and then jogged away. I stayed there, wondering if this was another cruel trick, or if he was going to help me after all."

"He helped you," she interrupted to tell me.

"How did you know that?" I wondered. It was true, but I was curious why she was so positive.

"Because he'd never abandon you, even if there was nothing he could do to help you. Ranger doesn't walk away. It's not who he is; he's not wired to do that," she replied, completely serious and a hundred percent convinced she was right. Hell, I didn't know how the world perceived my cousin, but in this woman's eyes, he was trustworthy and dependable, and I wondered if there was a higher honor in the entire world.

"You're right. He came back and explained that if I could move forward, there was no cap on the end of the pipe, and I could get out that way. When I asked about my pants, he said he'd reach in and get them loose once I wasn't in them anymore, and he'd give them back to me at the end of the pier once I was free. So I sucked in what gut I had and started crawling out of my pants, eventually making my way to freedom. True to his word, Ranger was waiting for me with my shorts, but no underwear. When I asked him where my briefs were, he said, 'Man, they were torn to shreds, so I left them in the pipe and figured you could go commando.' I told him I hated going commando, and he told me to buck up and get over it, so I put the pants on to keep him quiet and slunk my way back to the boardwalk, where we could blend into the crowd there and act like nothing had happened."

"So did you get the pictures you were after?" she asked, never one to let a detail go.

I couldn't stop from laughing. "We dropped off the film at one of those speedy delivery places, which in the mid-eighties, sent it away and brought the prints back a couple days later. When we went back to pick them up, the old man that owned the store asked if he could talk to us about our photos. I figured we were busted for sure and would end up being arrested for making pornography."

"Oh my God, what happened?" Stephanie asked, so in tune with the story that she wasn't paying any attention to Manny, who was trying to work some ropes around her in the pit.

"We followed him to the back of his shop, where he announced he was interested in buying the rights to a couple of the pictures. We both figured he was just a dirty old man, and since it didn't sound like he was reporting us to the cops, we agreed to listen. Then he pulled the photos out of the envelope and laid them out for us. It turned out, since I couldn't see what I was doing, I'd managed to miss the girls I was after with every shot and had taken pictures of birds flying, instead. Since my arm was moving, a couple of them had blurry trails following the birds, giving it a cool effect for the early eighties and an amateur photographer."

"Did you sell the pictures?" she asked.

"Hell yeah, and we split the big bucks, too, walking out of there damn relieved to have escaped without getting in trouble for what we'd attempted to do and having some money that we'd gotten legitimately enough, we could tell Abuela Rosa about our income," I finished.

Steph was smiling at me, and I held her gaze, wishing I was as good at talking about mushy stuff as I was at making jokes and wise cracks.

"Hey, since Ranger's not here, do you want me to tell you some embarrassing stories about him?" I asked, desperate to change the subject before I started blabbering like a bloody fool, telling her how much she meant to us all – to me in particular – and how much I loved her, even if it was just as a friend.

"Nah," she declined my offer. "As much as I like hearing stories about Ranger, I think it's better if he tells them to me himself. I'm sure he has his reasons for not telling me much about his past."

Sure he does – he's a closed off, emotionally distant bastard if he intentionally shut down around a woman like Stephanie Plum. Knowing that wasn't the right answer, I went with, "Well, if you won't let me talk about Ranger, then how about a story about Manny here?" I asked with a tilt in the fast working engineer's direction.

"Back off, Santos," Manny replied with a good natured grin. "The relationship between a husband and wife is a sacred thing, and for all you know, she's already heard all my past shames."

"I know that you have O positive blood and that you have the cutest tattoo above your belly button of a smiling mermaid," Stephanie said, causing Manny to turn slightly red and me to lift my head in his direction.

"Why do you have a happy mermaid near your navel?" I couldn't help but ask.

Manny looked like he was about to tell me it was none of my damn business, which I normally would have respected, but right now, it was something Stephanie was interested in, which meant she wasn't thinking about hitting that fucking suicide button in her hand. I narrowed my eyes, wishing to hell the ESP she always complained we had was true.

I guess he got the message, because I saw the second he backed down and said, "How about we get this sling adjusted to take a little weight off her legs, and once she's stable, I'll spill the beans?"

Stephanie was looking directly at Manny, so I nodded my head in thanks, knowing he didn't want that story broadcast over the communication link, but recognizing his temporary embarrassment was a small price to pay to save the treasure in front of us.

I glanced at my watch and saw it was 1115 hours. We had used up over a forth of the time given to us just in locating and reaching Stephanie, and yet, I felt like we were still as far away from saving her as we were when the phone call first came in and I threw my telephone into my monitor.

I knew that bargaining and getting pissed were steps of anger, but they were useless right now. Until I could accept the situation she was in, I wouldn't be able to fully help her, but God help me, I couldn't allow myself to admit that in less than three more hours, she might not be with us.

My eye began to twitch like it did when I was holding too much back and needed to work off the aggression in the gym. I clamped down the mental muscles I'd developed over the years and pressed on. I'd do everything I could to keep Steph going and trust that Tank and Woody were doing whatever was necessary to save us all.

Because that's what rescuing Stephanie boiled down to. She'd helped us all come alive when she'd come into our world, and losing her would rip our lives away, too.


	5. Manny

_JE created the characters below and I am absolutely using them for my own fun, but not for any gain._

_Jenny (JenRar) you are definitely in the running for the world's greatest beta. Your skill, speed, and joy in working make writing stories with you such a delight. _

**Chapter 5 – Manny – Sea Monsters and Secret Shames**

"Knock, knock," I called out after I made my way to the side of the crate blocking my view of Santos and Stephanie. "Hey, Wifey," I said, hoping my voice sounded upbeat to her ears so that she didn't hear how horrifying I suddenly found this whole situation.

She didn't respond, which was not big deal in the big scheme of things. It's not like RangeMan followed all the rules of proper etiquette, so we didn't take offense when our greetings were overlooked. But this was Stephanie, and despite our rude interchanges, she never missed a chance to say or wave hello, and she absolutely never forgot to say goodbye. So the fact that I knew she was aware of my presence, but wasn't acknowledging it, spoke volumes to me about her state of mind. I wasn't a shrink, but only a fool would miss the fact that our girl wasn't herself. And a quick look around gave me more than enough evidence as to why that was.

She was in a damn hole in the floor. It had to be cool in there, and based on what I'd heard through the comm unit, she was standing in some kind of goo, which would only made her feel colder. Add to that the pain from her leg, and it was a freaking miracle she wasn't collapsing in a shaking fit of shock. My guess was only the adrenaline they gave her was holding that off, so we had to keep her from focusing on reality to keep that from happening as the hormonal boost wore off.

I did a quick analysis of the size of the opening, the rough edges around her, and the uneven floor. I knew what he needed me to do, and I'd brought what I thought I'd need to make a sling to take her body weight off her legs without moving her feet from the bottom of the pit.

I could feel Lester watching me, so I assured him, "I can fix something up."

When he asked if he needed to move, I could see that Stephanie didn't like that idea. He was helping her hang on, and asking her to let him go would be a form of cruelty I couldn't be responsible for. So even though it would be nice to have access to the side where he was laying, I told him I could work around him.

I'd learned a lot in the Army Corps of Engineers about building emergency work arounds, but what I was going to do now was all from my days as a Boy Scout. While I started pulling rope from my bag and tying it into the shape necessary to support her weight given her position, Lester jumped into a story about him and Ranger as kids. I wasn't focusing on him, but I couldn't help but overhear bits and pieces. Lester was a real jokester and didn't mind laughing at himself from time to time, but the tale he was spinning for Stephanie would give the guys fuel to pick on him for months. It's not the kind of thing most of us would confess to, but when I glanced back over at Stephanie, she seemed to be more focused on him, and from the bit of her face that wasn't injured in some way, I thought I could see a spark of interest and life, which had definitely not been there when I first showed up.

I tried to work faster, wanting to do my part to help her physically, while Lester was working on where she was in her head. I was able to measure the ropes by dropping them down in the pit beside her, and she never even acknowledged me. Her whole world revolved around the story Les was telling her, and nothing I did was breaking that connection. After getting the basic harness together, I added a piece of leather with some foam cushion under it to be the bucket of sorts for her groin to rest in. I'd known I would need something like that, so when I was pulling my supplies together, I'd walked right over to the SUV I was assigned, pulled out my all purpose knife, and carved up the back seat to take what I needed. I knew I might get in trouble for that, but I didn't give a damn. Paying for the seat, even with my ass on the mats, was a small price to pay to know I'd eased Stephanie in some way. I knew having a rope pressing against her crotch would hurt after a while, so I hoped what I'd taken from the bench in the Explorer was enough. I was just about to announce that I was done, when I remembered her saying something about a metal vest being soldered together between her legs, insuring we didn't take it off her. I could cut through the metal, but it would create sparks, and since we still didn't know what compound she was standing in, I was unsure if that was a good idea.

I tried to come up with a way to take the pressure off her body if the metal was going to be pressed into her by my sling, and then did a quick retool of the seat to keep from switching one form of discomfort for another.

Just as I was finishing, I heard Lester offer to tell Stephanie my secrets. I would gladly give up a story or two for Stephanie's sake, but decided to ease into it by feigning offense and saying, "Back off, Santos. The relationship between a husband and wife is a sacred thing," and then added that she might already know all my past shames.

Steph moved her head in my direction, said that she knew my blood type, and then she let loose her knowledge of the small tattoo above my navel of a smiling mermaid. Damn, I'd worked hard to keep the guys from seeing that horrible ink, down to always wearing a shirt in the gym to keep it covered, and now everyone wearing an ear piece was aware of it.

Lester pulled me back by asking why I had that particular ink in that location, and I almost told him to screw out of habit, but then I saw his eyes change, as though begging me to play along, so I swallowed my pride by focusing on Stephanie. A couple of years ago, I'd gotten shot by a guy that I thought was Ranger. She'd lied to the nursing staff and pretended to be my wife in order to ask me what happened before I gave in to the pain meds they were pumping into me.

I'd told her everything I could remember about the guy that had shot me, which wasn't much, and assumed she would leave and be done. She had walked out and passed along the information she'd gotten, but then she'd come back and sat with me until Bobby arrived to get me released back to RangeMan.

I could remember her threatening a couple of nurses and running her hand through my hair. I hadn't felt much because of the drugs, but damn, I remembered the sensation of her fingers running through my hair. She'd had the perfect balance of pressure so that it felt good, without leaving the impression that she was going to hurt my scalp. I remember feeling so disappointed when Bobby came in and told the nurse who was checking my dressing that he'd be watching over me in place of my wife.

To most people, it wasn't a big deal, but we'd barely known each other. By confessing in the hospital that we were married, the 'Burg heard about it, and by the time she got home later that night, her mother was badgering her about eloping and not letting them know.

I'd taken to calling her Wifey, which I knew she thought was a joke, but I did it to honor the way she'd jumped in without thought of how it would impact her, in order to care for RangeMan, and me in particular.

In light of that memory, I knew I couldn't hold onto my own pride and refuse to return the favor for her. So I negotiated and agreed that I'd spill the beans about my tattoo after we got the sling fitted and in use.

As I dropped the ropes in one side and pulled them up behind her, I realized there was no way for just one person to hold them, or she would be pulled to the edge of the pit, and I had a feeling we should avoid that if possible.

I caught Lester's attention and told him to grab the two ropes near him. I took the remaining ends on my side, and we pulled simultaneously by tiny increments until the ropes began to hold taut. I tossed a Sharpe over to Santos and told him to mark the ropes on the edge of the pit so that the person on that side would know exactly where to maintain the line. He handed it back to me, and I pulled as smoothly as possible, given the jagged edge of the pit, and watched her face for any sign that she was uncomfortable.

If it were possible, her face seemed to drain of color all of a sudden, so I held the pressure as it was and asked, "What's happening Stephanie?"

She was blinking rapidly and her bottom lip was between her teeth. I could feel the rough texture of the climbing rope against my palm and regretted not grabbing gloves, but the mild discomfort wasn't going to keep me from supporting her weight.

She finally let go of her lip and explained, "I think that's as far as you should go."

"Why?" I wondered, trying once again to see down into the pit and cursing that the hole was small enough that her body was blocking my view into the shadows.

"The pressure is off my legs and hips, but my feet are still technically on the bottom," she said, looking down like she was verifying that it was true.

"Is it enough to give you some relief?" I asked, praying it was.

You'd think being shot or stabbed would rank as the most excruciating experiences of my life. The single tear that pooled at the corner of her eye and then began it's descent down her face, however, easily took the top spot as the most painful thing I'd ever endured. I felt like the lines it made on her cheek were spelling out my failure more effectively than any letters could have.

Thankfully, she spoke before I could start lobbing mental left hooks at myself. "It's much better now. When the pressure first came off my leg, it hurt more, but it's evening back off, so it's much better." Then a small piece of the Stephanie we all loved bubbled up to the surface, and she added, "Thank you."

"Ah, Wifey," I let slip as I tightened my grip on the rope to keep from letting go and wiping that tear away.

Before I could make a damn fool of myself by blubbering about what she meant to me, Stephanie said, "Okay, you're done with the sling. I think you owe me a story."

I let my head fall forward and wrapped the rope around my knuckles so that it was doubled on itself to insure it didn't accidently slip back out while I was reliving my ink shame. "You really want to know?"

I looked up in time to see her make a face that must have translated into, "You're an idiot who doesn't know me at all if you think I'm going to let you leave without sharing that back story – especially since you blush anytime it's brought up."

I glanced over to Lester, who was giving me some sort of intense message that I figured meant for me to get on with it, because she needed this.

I looked at Steph's good eye and said, "You know I wouldn't tell this to anyone but you, right?"

"Yeah...me, Les, and whoever else is listening in on this line," she said with some sarcasm dripping.

I winced at the reminder of our audience, before finding the balls to man up and do what needed to be done. "Nah, Wifey, this story is just for you."

She looked down, so I jumped in, hoping because of the seriousness of what was happening that some kind of life threatening confessional rules would apply that would protect us from coming to regret the secrets that were being spilled.

"Five years ago, I was on leave in Miami, and a group of us went clubbing, looking for a way to blow off some steam." I figured that was a nicer way of saying we were fried after our last tour and needed a high amount of booze and a long night of sex to begin to feel human again.

"I picked up a girl who said she worked at a water amusement park nearby. She was in great shape with a smoking body, so I figured she was a lifeguard or something that forced her to work out. We danced and drank for hours, before finally leaving together. I'm a little shady on the exact order of events next, but as best I can tell, we ended our evening at a tattoo parlor, with an agreement to pick out some body art for each other. It had to be on the small side, because neither of us wanted the secret of our night to get out, and we agreed that we wouldn't peek at the pictures until they were finished."

I saw that Stephanie was listening, and her hand, which had been gripped tightly into a fist, was no longer strained around whatever was in her palm. I took that as a good sign, so I kept talking, finding it strangely easy to forget about the group of guys listening in.

"I picked the Army Corps of Engineers emblem, which is a castle front. I figured it stood for me, but to anyone else, she could say it was the castle where her dream prince lived and could have some kind of Cinderella dream shit story to cover up the truth if she wanted. When the tattoo artist asked where she wanted it, she said it had to go right above her belly button. I thought it was a weird spot, but didn't care one way or the other. When he was done, I thought it was totally sexy, because that was a spot I'd spent some time admiring earlier in her cut off shirt, and now it was on display."

"What did she say when she saw what it was?" Stephanie interrupted to ask.

"I think she was as wasted as I was, because she said it was perfect and that it was a shame her uniform at work would cover it up." At the time, I'd assumed that was because most lifeguards wear one piece bathing suits, so anything on her torso was hidden.

"Now, quit stalling – what does this have to do with the mermaid?" Steph said in a mock harsh tone.

I smiled a little and jumped back into the memory. "I got up on the table and took off my shirt, assuming she'd want something over my heart or on my bicep. She told me to shut my eyes so it would be a surprise, and then she spoke to the guy that had done her ink, and the next thing I know, the needle is smacking on my abs, just above my belly button. I looked down to ask why in the hell I was getting a tat there, and she kissed me, effectively shutting my mouth and making me forget the question entirely. My art took longer than hers had, but she kept me distracted enough that I didn't care."

"Tell me the rest of your clothes stayed on," Steph commanded.

"Yea, everything below the waist on me was covered," I assured her, leaving off the fact that when the guy announced I was good to go, the woman I was with was leaning over me, holding her shirt up and wearing a little skimpy bra. I think it was that distraction that kept me from noticing what my new tat was at first.

"It wasn't until we got out that I put my shirt back on and looked down to see what I was stuck with, and I stopped walking to ask, 'Why is there a fish woman on my stomach?' She doubled over laughing and came over to stand really close to me. She pulled the top of her pants down past her belly button and showed me the exact same tattoo on her body."

"Why did she have that tattoo?" Stephanie followed up when I paused.

"She told me then that the amusement park where she worked was called Atlantis, and her job was to swim around dressed as a mermaid in one of the pools and smile at all the guests. And since I picked something that would remind her of me, she wanted to return the favor." I decided to add to the embarrassment of the story by adding the next detail, as well. "She said initially, she was going to have them color in the word 'Pain' on my arm, because that was her name, just spelled differently, and it would make sense on a tough army guy and could be our little secret about what it really stood for. She'd changed her mind after I suggested something more personal, so she switched to this to match my _thoughtfulness_."

"Poor Manny – from tough guy to Poseidon in just seconds," she sympathized.

"Of course, the next morning when we were both feeling the pain of the amount of shots we'd done, she said that mermaids and sea monsters were allies in the water, so it made sense to have that picture so close to the monster I carried with me."

I winked at her, channeling my inner Santos by throwing out a cheesy line comparing my dick to a beast in the ocean, but it had the exact effect I wanted it to when she opened her mouth and laughed.

I glanced over at Santos, who lifted his chin, telling me I'd done all right with my story.

Before either of us could say more, Tank's voice cracked in our ears and announced he was sending in Hal, who had just arrived after doing a sweep of Stephanie's apartment. He wanted Hal to test the gel she was standing in to see if he could figure out what it was.

"It looks like we're about to have some more company," I told Stephanie, wanting to warn her before a new face popped around the crate and surprised her.

She nodded, but with the end of my story, her mind was able to come back to the reality of the situation around her, and I saw right away that her hand was tightening back down on that metal object in her fist.

"Hey, Beautiful," Les called to get her attention.

She looked his way, but said nothing in response.

"Have you noticed the reversal of roles here?"

Her eyebrows drew together in confusion, showing she had no idea what he was talking about. "I'm in trouble once again, and you guys are forced to risk yourselves to ride to my rescue. Nothing's different from where I'm standing."

Shit, this was taking its toll on Stephanie. Not that it was surprising. Who knew what hell she'd endured before we'd found her, and to be suspended in a place you couldn't escape, where you could die horribly at any moment was a psychological form of torture few people could handle. Honestly, she was doing a damn good job of keeping it together considering all of that.

Les explained his earlier comment just as Hal began to come around the crate. "I meant that this time, you are talking less and using your face to communicate, and we're the ones running on at the mouth, telling rambling stories."

Her eye narrowed slightly, like she getting a major mad on, and she said, "I do not ramble when I tell stories."

Santos chuckled, before saying, "No, you don't ramble, but we're out of practice talking this much, so we do."

She tilted her head, as though conceding his point.

Hal used their conversation to slip around me, going to Stephanie's back. He opened his kit and raised up a few tiers to get to an empty test tube that he could grip in an extendible metal arm to reach the bottom of the pit. Honestly, that box was like Mary Poppin's carpet bag. No matter what he needed, it seemed to be in there somewhere.

"All right, Steph," Hal said to get her attention. He was the quietest guy at RangeMan, so hearing him talk voluntarily was as shocking to Stephanie as it was to me and Lester.

"What do I need to do?" she asked, tilting her head back a little to acknowledge who she was speaking to.

"Just stay as still as you can," he warned her.

"Wait!" she practically yelled, making us all jump.

"What?" Hal asked looking into the pit with a flashlight, as though some new surprise was going to appear.

"They said if the level of this gel changed, it would release some kind of liquid that would cause an explosion," she reminded us.

"Oh, yeah, no problem," Hal replied confidently, before once again extending the metal arm holding the test tube.

"Easy for you to say. You aren't the one standing in the potential ball of fire," she muttered.

Hal's face turned redder than mine had when Steph ousted my tattoo. "No, I'm sorry…" he stumbled, before pulling himself together. "What I meant to say was, I will replace the mass simultaneously with a harmless saline compound so that the overall level won't go down."

When Hal turned into the science guy, it was hard to doubt him, so she turned back to me and asked, "Did you ever see Payne again?"

I hadn't been expecting that, but I pulled the answer up from my past and explained, "I went to the park where she worked and hid to watch her swim. Her legs were in a costume designed to look like a fish's tail. That explained why her abs were so killer. She had to kick with her feet together to propel herself, which pulled her abs. On top, she had some kind of bikini that looked like a couple of sea shells. I wasted a whole afternoon watching her wave at the tourists and pull herself up to the edge of the glass for pictures when people asked."

I thought back about that day and wondered when I'd lost touch with the guy who was outgoing enough to stalk a mermaid in order to spend time with a girl. I saw Steph was fading into her own mind when I stopped talking, so I added, "I got a hell of sunburn from that day, too, which the guys in my unit gave me hell about. I told them I'd fallen asleep outside, because I'd rather them pick on me for being exhausted and boring than know the truth that I was a fool chasing a girl and unaware of my surroundings."

"All right, I've got what I need," Hal announced, a surprise to us all. Apparently, whatever he'd done was all right, because there had been no ill effects. "I'll start testing this as soon as I get it back to my mobile lab. Once we know what it is, we'll figure out how to get you out of here."

"No, you won't," Stephanie corrected him.

"Won't what?" Hal asked, obviously ready to defend his knowledge of chemistry if she thought he couldn't figure out what a little sludge was made of.

"You won't get me out of here. I'm not making it out of this alive," she replied softly, looking back down at her hand again and putting me on edge.

Her eye turned a strange shade of grey, mostly devoid of the blue we all loved to lose ourselves in, and she looked up at Lester.

"Don't do it, Steph," he pleaded, looking as though he were talking a man off a ledge.

Then it hit me what that was she was holding onto, and I, too, tried to will her into forgetting about the out in her hand.

But it was Hal that spoke up, blowing us away, "You can't do it without taking Manny and Lester with you."

"Huh?" she eventually got out, as though his words were in a foreign language.

"The ropes Manny used have a metallic thread in them to make them twice as strong, but it also turns them into conductors of electricity, so if you push that button to take the easy way out, you'll end up taking Lester and Manny with you, because they are tied to that same circuit."

It was complete bullshit, of course, and the fact he was lying was as clear as the red flames on our buddy Cal's face, but because Stephanie's back was to him, she couldn't see his guilt. And because he so rarely spoke around her, she didn't recognize the waver of confidence in his voice.

Instead, her head hung down, and she shook it from side to side. I realized to keep her going, we were going to have to get some more stories to her. I'd pretty much told the only good one I had; my life was relatively dull compared to the other guys. I'm sure some of them thought I was chickening out when I tilted my head to down to be sure the mic picked up my voice clearly and said, "Hey, Tank. Can you send Cal in?"

"On his way," Tank replied without delay, before asking, "Does he need any equipment?"

"Nah, but he needs to come in ready to tell Steph the story behind his tat," I explained, wanting to be sure Cal was prepared to deliver what we needed. I glanced at my watch seeing that it was already 1130. We were moving as fast as we could, but I hoped the next two and a half hours gave us the chance to make more progress.

I wanted to stay by Stephanie's side and hold onto her, keeping her fighting to survive, but I'd already done what I could. It was time to step away, instead of staying here selfishly. If she needed some more colorful stories to hang on, I would gladly step down and let somebody with a much more adventurous life come in and take my place.

While I was distracted, planning my exit, I heard Hal speak up again, asking Steph about her apartment and some of what he'd found there. I blocked it out, not really wanting to think about what she'd already endured and trying to convince myself that by leaving the warehouse and allowing someone to take my place, I was still taking care of her.

I heard Cal approach and waited for him to come to my side to explain the marks on the ropes and what the basic design of the sling was doing. I wanted to be sure he understood that if any sudden movements were made, it would alter the level of the gel as a worst case scenario, or it would jostle Stephanie's leg, giving her a blast of blinding pain, which was nearly as bad.

He nodded that he understood, so I began to unwind the rope from my hand, seeing for the first time the bloody gash made as the fibers dug into my skin. I knew it was deep enough, it might leave a scar, and there was a piece of me that hoped it would. Stephanie had made such an impact on my life that having a small piece of evidence to prove what I'd tried to do in return would be a mark I would wear with honor.


	6. Hal

_I'm borrowing from JE, I deserve no credit._

_Jenny (JenRar) you are an amazing beta. Thank you for your hard work on this story, and for your encouragement of me to write it in the first place._

**Chapter 6 - Hal - That's Dr. Halosaurus to You**

I never lie. It's part of why I went into science, because it was a way of justifying anything I said in concrete, thus provable, points. But knowing that Stephanie had the ability to take her own life with something as simple as the push of a button was too much for me, and when I saw that she was basically looking at that as her get of jail free card, I had to say something to stop her.

I knew that Stephanie put our lives above her own, so the lie about the rope having metal in it jumped out of my mouth before Lester or Manny had a chance to come up with anything better. I never would have attempted it if she'd been facing me, because she could read people so well, and even though she was pretty out of her normal zone, she still would have seen through my lame attempt at a stall tactic.

The expressions on the guys' faces should have been insulting. They appeared to be grateful, but more than that, they were absolutely floored with shock. I might have taken offense, but I knew that I rarely spoke up unless it related to something in my field of expertise, so they had every right to feel that way.

I knew they'd been telling her stories about themselves to keep her mind occupied. Psychology wasn't my science, but their logic made sense. When I heard Manny call in Cal, I knew it was because they needed to keep her distracted. I didn't have any interesting stories to tell her – my life was as Middle America and dull as they came – but I could talk about what I knew and buy them enough time to get Cal in here. If anybody could keep going with personal stories that were engaging and surprising, it would be him. We were about as different as two people could be, but I still liked Cal. He'd keep Stephanie distracted while the rest of us got to work.

"It looked like you put up a good fight before they got you," I said, moving myself forward a little to be closer to Stephanie's ear, so I wouldn't have to talk so loud.

"I tried," she said, twisting her head slightly, but not enough to see me, "But it wasn't enough to stop them. I guess I should have taken my self defense lessons with Tank a little more seriously."

I didn't know she was taking self-defense with Tank. That's a great idea. If I'd known, I would have volunteered to help teach her. I get a bum rap as being the quietest person at RangeMan, but that isn't entirely true. In reality, I'm comfortable talking, as long as it's a topic where I have some knowledge. I'd been through all the physical training the other guys have been through, and I love to teach. I always assumed I'd get hurt at some point in the line of duty, and then I'd see about teaching as a second career. So far, I'd been lucky enough to stay in this line of work so I could have both the heady challenge and the occasional rush of adrenaline chasing down the scum in Trenton. But it was nice to have a Plan-B in case I needed it.

I shook my head to clear the thought of me in front of a dry erase board. That was Woody's place right now, and we all needed to focus on the job in front of us.

"How did you know I put up a fight?" she asked, giving me the perfect opening to talk to her.

"I was given the job of processing your apartment as a crime scene to see if I could find any clues about who took you," I told her honestly. I figured since this involved her, there was no reason to filter any of the information as classified. I always thought we kept too much from her as it was. Sure, she loved to talk, but she never betrayed a confidence, and there were times I felt like if we'd told her the whole truth, she might have made different decisions that would have kept her safer.

She made a strange sound at the idea of me seeing her apartment, and then said, "It must have been a wreck."

"I've seen worse," I answered her honestly, and then realized that kind of disclosure wasn't helpful, so I tried engaging her. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah," she said as permission, but it didn't have her usual enthusiasm.

"The door to your apartment was hacked up with an ax. Why didn't you call 911, or grab a panic button to alert us someone was there?" I asked the question that had bothered me the most since I first arrived at her home.

She hung her head. "I'd asked Eddie for some help with a skip, and he said he would do what I needed, only if I'd agree to babysit his kids so that he could take my cousin out to dinner. He promised it would only be for a couple of hours, and they went later so that the kids would be asleep. I was only supposed to stay in case something went wrong at the house. But the second their car left the driveway, the children jumped out of bed and came charging downstairs, and I couldn't get them back to sleep until after mid-night. Eddie and Shirley didn't get home until a couple of hours after that, so I was completely exhausted. When I got home, I dropped my purse, with my cell phone clipped to it, near the front door and collapsed on the bed, still in my clothes, and went to sleep. I had a horrible nightmare that I was still babysitting and the kids were nailing the door shut to the room I was in. By the time I woke up and realized the sounds weren't in my dream, but in reality, I couldn't get to my purse in the den for a panic button or my stun gun. I picked up the phone next to my bed, but it was dead, so I couldn't call 911."

"How many kids do they have?" I asked, unsure why she seemed to think babysitting was such an ordeal.

"Three, but they're wild animals who have been allowed to watch large amounts of reality TV, so they have all these ideas they want to try out. If you let your guard down even for a minute, they'll give you a haircut, and then try using bubblegum to stick your hair back on so you won't notice," she explained with a shiver that told me that wasn't a fully hypothetical example.

I wasn't sure if she was cold, or if the thought of being around the kids was that terrifying, so I decided to let her get out of that place in her mind.

"I could see that you managed to hurt one of them, because we pulled a thirty eight slug out of the wall," I told her, trying to compliment her for hurting them, but still a little confused about how she managed to get to her gun if her purse was in the den.

She let out a bitter sounding laugh, not at all her usual happy sound. "They pulled me out of my bedroom, and I got mad. I don't know why being forced to leave that room pissed me off, but it did. They'd already cut my arm," she said, looking down at her left side to a makeshift bandage that appeared to be a sock that was at one point white, but was now stained with dried blood and tied tightly to her with a pair of women's hose. I guess that explained why that drawer in her bedroom had been rummaged through.

She jerked her head away from the wound, as though looking at it made it hurt more. "So after they dragged me out of the bedroom, I kicked the guy holding me in the balls, and then ran to the kitchen. They'd been expecting me to try to escape, so they were guarding the front door, not the cookie jar. I told you guys it was a great place to leave my gun. I pulled it out and fired without thinking when the biggest guy came at me."

"You must have hit him, because there was a good bit of blood on the cushion in your den that wasn't yours," I pointed out, impressed that with a single shot in a high stress situation, she'd been able to hit her target.

"I got him in the arm, in just about the same place he'd stabbed me, and so it seemed fair. Of course, I regretted not taking the box of bullets Ranger kept trying to force on me, because I only had the one shot, and it seems that if you shoot a big goon, it only makes them mad, instead of scaring them off," she said, basically admitting to the end of her resistance.

"Why didn't any of your neighbors come check on you?" I couldn't help but ask. I mean, she lived in an apartment building full of people. Where was the common sense of dignity that said when you hear screaming and gunfire, you try to help?

She shook her head and sounded so sad when she said, "A few of them were away, visiting family, one is completely deaf when he isn't wearing his hearing aids and he rarely leaves his apartment, and Mrs. Slovinski across the hall told me once that if I didn't start hanging out with a different class of people, it was going to catch up with me one day. I have a feeling she heard the noise and ignored it to teach me a lesson."

I reached out and touched her hair, wishing I were Santos for the first time in my life so that I would have something to say that would make her feel better. "You think she ignored the sounds in your apartment because she wanted you to stop associating with us?"

She shrugged her shoulders, like she didn't know. "I got a letter from the owners of the building last week telling me that my lease was coming up for renewal and they would be speaking with the surrounding residents before automatically rolling it over for another year. They'd gotten a good number of complaints about me over the last few years, so I think my time there was limited. I was pissed at first, but when I looked at it from their point of view, I understood. I mean, they're old, and they don't deserve to be in danger because someone in their building can't take care of themselves."

That was just like her, to see someone else's point of view instead of standing up for her own right to live wherever she wanted. She paid her rent the same as everyone else in the building, and she didn't deserve to be thrown out just because her life was more interesting than theirs.

"Does this mean you're going to take the empty apartment on four?" I asked, trying to sound excited, while I wrapped one of the corkscrew curls around my index finger, amazed at how it felt.

I'd always loved her hair – it was a guilty pleasure that I'd never admit to. I wouldn't say it was a fetish like the weird thing Bones had for a woman's fingernails, but I had gone to bed on more than one occasion finding relief after imagining what it would be like to feel her hair on my cock. I would never disrespect Stephanie by saying anything about it, but I'd bet the texture and the light tickling it would bring would be my undoing super fast.

I never thought I'd have the chance to touch it, and with it literally right in front of me, I couldn't stop myself. I'd read once that our scalps have twice as many nerve endings as any other part of our skin, outside of our sexual organs. Based on that, I buried my hand farther in her hair, trying to get down to her head to rub those underappreciated nerve endings.

I heard a moan and discounted it, knowing how verbal Stephanie was when she was enjoying something. But when she leaned back and asked if I was okay because she'd never heard me make a noise like that, I realized I was the one that had lost control of my vocal chords. There was no way to explain my way out of this, so I used both hands at the base of her hairline at her neck and applied pressure in small circles until I felt her begin to relax. Her hair was covering my wrists and arms, and I felt like this was heaven in the middle of hell.

She was being so brave and far exceeding anything we could expect of her, considering her condition. Perhaps it was the real possibility that she might not make it out of this that gave me the boldness to finally touch her. Now that I had my hands in her hair, I couldn't remember why I was so reluctant to do this before. The ends were that kind of untamable roughness that you'd expect from looking at it, but at the base, the hair was unexpectedly softer, and my fingers wouldn't stop moving.

"Based on the pattern of the fight I saw, I'd say if they hadn't cheated and sedated you, they might not have gotten you out of there." I knew I needed to say something unrelated to the experience I was having with my hands buried in her hair. Science was always a safe subject matter, so I decided to stick with what I knew before I blurted out something stupid and embarrassed myself.

She shrugged again, before her head fell back slightly, proving I was relaxing her. I wasn't the smoothest person on staff, so seeing the effect I was having on Stephanie was a bit of a rush, emboldening me to move up on her scalp.

She hissed, and I recognized a good sized good egg at the right side of her head. A knock hard enough to make that big of a swelling had the potential to translate into a major concussion.

"What happened?" I asked her, moving away from the injury after feeling around it to estimate the diameter and height to report on later.

"I don't remember," she said softly. "It happened after they hurt my leg, so I don't know if I fell and hit my head, or if they knocked me out with the bat they'd used on my calf."

Son of a bitch. These guys were dead as soon as we could track them down. I needed to get my brain out of my fingertips and stop lusting after a damn head of hair. I was the detail guy, and it was time to get the frigging details to finish this – now.

I pulled my hands away, and Steph made a noise that didn't sound pleased at the withdrawal. It was a compliment that I didn't know how to thank her for, but I knew I'd remember it at night when I was alone, and I'd smile over it.

"I saw evidence of three people, but can you remember how many people were there?" I asked, getting my crime scene hat back on firmly.

"There were four – the one that did all the talking, the guys called him Jefe, but I thought that was a nickname, not his actual name," she said, proving that her natural intuition of reading people was spot on.

"It means boss," I explained, knowing how much she liked having mysteries cleared up.

"Hmm..." She made a sound as she tucked away that tidbit, before moving on. "There was the muscle that I kicked in the groin and shot in the arm. There was another guy that took my gun away, and then smiled at me when he saw I didn't have any more ammunition. I got the feeling he thought it was cute that I only had one bullet and no more. And there was a forth guy – he was the one with the needle. He didn't say a word the whole time, and once I woke up, I didn't see him again."

"We know who took you," I told her, feeling that she deserved the truth. "It was an enemy of Ranger's from one of his missions. His name's Hernando Juarez, and he's after Ranger because the mission where they crossed paths caused the death of Juarez's brother, Alberto, and Alberto's wife, Maria. When they couldn't get any information out of you, they decided to use you as bait."

"I didn't tell them anything. I promise I didn't," she said, as though desperate to be sure we all knew she hadn't betrayed us.

"We know that, Stephanie," I assured her, using her full name to be sure she heard me. "It would have been okay if you'd given them something, but we all know you better than to think that you did."

"You guys have given so much to take care of me that I had to do whatever I could to return the favor," she explained with a sense of urgency coming through in her voice.

I returned one of my hands to the back of her head and gently rubbed her hair once more. "I'm going to go analyze the goo you're standing in and figure out what they've done to you so that we can get you out of here. You fought for us by not giving them anything to find Ranger with, and now, you have to trust us to fight for you. We're getting you out of here, and then together, we'll figure out how to be sure you're never in this situation again."

I used to laugh at Joe and Ranger when they'd discuss locking her up in a safe house, knowing firsthand how unlikely it was that she'd allow it. But at the moment, the idea of wrapping her in bubble wrap and securing her in a tall tower surrounded by a moat and a dragon might be fiction, but it sounded like a good first line of defense to me.

I pushed myself forward so that I could kiss the back of her head, thankful that she couldn't see me, because I didn't think I'd have the courage to kiss her if I could see her face.

Then I grabbed my kit, snapped it shut, and nodded at the guys so they'd know I was leaving. I was a few feet away when Stephanie called my name.

"Hal!"

I twisted my torso so that I could see her and waited to see what she needed to say.

"I'm sorry I stunned you."

I knew my face turned red at the memory of the first time I'd come face to face with Stephanie when Ranger wasn't around. She'd sweet talked me out of my stun gun, and then turned it on me.

"I'm not. In some ways, you did me a favor."

"Didn't the guys pick on you?" she wondered, obviously not expecting my response.

"Mercilessly, for about four days, but it gave me something to talk about besides chemistry, so they stopped looking at me as just a big guy who doubled as a mad scientist and saw I had a sense of humor, too. Then Cal had to call the control room for a ride when two wheels of his RangeMan SUV were stolen while he was in a strip club, so I was relegated to yesterday's news and allowed to pick on him for not being more aware of his surroundings."

I looked at Cal, who was holding a set of ropes to support Stephanie, and he was smiling. The guy never held a grudge, so I wasn't worried about telling Steph the truth.

When I glanced back at Stephanie, she was giving me one of her real smiles. It wasn't splitting her face like they sometimes did, but it told me my response had given her a brief moment of real joy, so I felt as though no matter what else I did, I could remember this moment as one of my greatest accomplishments.

I moved a few more inches away, before she said, "If I do manage to make it out of this—"

I interrupted her to correct that supposition. "You mean, _when_ you get out of this."

She rolled her eyes a little and said, "Okay, _when_ I get out of this, will you do that thing you just did with my hair again?"

All right, I was going to have a much more painful belly crawl back to the door with what was now pressing against the rough concrete through my cargos. "Name the time and place, and I'll be there."

She smiled again, and I decided I'd better move before I said or did something that would make me the headline gossip item for the day.

I moved as though a drill sergeant were barking orders over my head. The farther I got away from the spell of being close to Stephanie, the more I burned to find some answers to help get her out of the hell of that pit.

As soon as I cleared the rigged area, I jumped up and ran to the parking lot, hoping that no one had been stupid enough to touch my laptop. I'd brought up my chemistry diagnostic programs, which were huge files and took a while to boot up. With as much time as I had been in the warehouse, they should be ready to roll, as long as no one touched it. I knew Bones was out there, and I hoped my sidekick in science had run off anyone that had gotten too close to my workstation.

Tank came over the truck where the laptop was ready, and I continued to work, knowing he was going to want results in addition to whatever information he was about to request verbally.

"You get what you need?" he asked, pointing to the small tube in my hand. "That doesn't look like much."

"I couldn't risk taking too much," I explained, before answering his first question, "but I'm sure this will tell me what we need to know."

"How long will it take to get an answer?" he pushed. Tank could be a patient man and understood that some things took time, but I also knew this answer needed to be given faster than as soon as possible.

I shrugged. "Usually, I'd say I could figure it out in a couple of hours, but I know we don't have that kind of time, so I'll do everything I can to make it happen faster." It was a shitty answer, but it was all I could offer at the moment.

Tank turned his head away from me and looked at the warehouse for a moment before responding. "Come find me when you have something." Then he walked away without making a sound.

It was a strange thing that someone with Tank's bulk could be as stealthy as Hector when the situation called for it.

I could hear Stephanie asking Cal questions and knew that he was telling her some yarn from his past. If we needed to distract her, then Manny called in exactly the right person for the job. Lester seemed to be unusually subdued at the moment, which meant Cal was up as next best storyteller at RangeMan.

As much as I loved hearing her voice, just to know that she was still with us and doing okay, I also knew it was a distraction, so I forced myself to pull out the receiver from my ear in order to focus on the job at hand – I had to classify the pale green substance in this tube.

I held it up in front of my face and tilted the container, watching it move. It appeared to have been thickened, as there were few explosive agents that were as slow in moving as this was. I pulled out a small glass slide and told Bones to grab the old fashioned microscope in my padded bag. It was at the same level as what any college lab would have, but it did the job in the field well enough. When I needed something better, I had one that I'd saved all year for in my apartment at the office. Hopefully, what I needed to see would be visible enough here.

He handed me my equipment, and I placed the slide under the scope, hoping like hell to see something familiar enough to point me in the right direction. And as soon as I focused the eyepiece, I knew I'd hit pay dirt. In front of my eyes looked like a million bubbles of oil suspended in water. The cell size was tiny, which meant I was looking at a water in oil emulsion compound. Some people called it water gel explosives. There were several different variations of the gel portion, but since Stephanie had said a liquid would be added, I could safely rule it down to only a couple. And either one would be highly volatile if mixed with liquid aluminum.

Whoever had done this was smart. She might suffer some dizziness or headaches from the prolonged exposure, but those side effects would be equally attributable to her other injuries, as well. The ingredients could be easily ordered online or picked up at an expanded hardware store, which would make it impossible to trace back to them.

"Ram!" I called out, knowing he'd need to know as soon as possible to begin strategizing a containment plan as a worst case scenario. This stuff was being used in place of dynamite in many settings now, because it was stable to transport but created just as much damage as the old sticks did. If it went off, there was a real possibility that whole building could blow.

Tank came over at the same time Ram did. I hadn't bothered to call him, too, because I knew he'd show up at the first hint of progress being made.

"She's standing in a water gel explosive. If it gets hit with some liquid aluminum…" I left the result out there, knowing Ram would understand.

"Son of a bitch!" Ram shouted, using my go-to expletive. I tried not to swear – my parents had taught me better than that – but at the moment, I really understood the need to get that out.

"One of you two want to put that into English so I can figure out what to do next?" Tank asked, sounding unusually on edge about being left out of the explanation.

Ram spoke up, and I allowed him to explain, "Separately, neither of the compounds are dangerous, but when you mix them, they create the new go-to version of a terrorist bomb, because it is an instantaneous and huge scale explosion. Depending on the amounts and percentages mixed, it could easily rip the roof off that warehouse, raining this whole parking lot with shrapnel and debris. To play it safe, we should relocate at least a half mile away, and even then, we should have some kind of cover to protect us from the particles falling from the initial blast."

"She doesn't have the option of playing it safe, so we aren't bugging out on her. I'll give the men the option, but I'm not commanding anybody to go, and I sure as hell ain't budging," Tank announced firmly.

He could be as professional and stoic as the next commanding officer, but when he was pissed, he tended to use terminology designed to make his point of view crystal clear to what he called the least distinguished user. Even the dumbest among us would get that RangeMan didn't leave one of our own behind, and Stephanie was the very best one of us.

"What other options do we have?" Tank asked, knowing his point was clear on the first issue.

"There is no harm in moving her in the gel. As long as nothing triggers the release of the aluminum, she's safe, but when you mix the two the explosion occurs immediately, so there is no way to pick her up and make a run for it. The force of the explosion would kill anyone in that building without even considering what the fire and heat would do to their bodies," Ram reported, letting us know just how bleak it was.

"So how do we find the aluminum so it doesn't release into the gel?" Tank asked, proving why he was in charge at the moment. It was the next best solution.

"The pit is roughly three and a half feet in diameter so there is room around Stephanie, but despite the light in the warehouse, it's still dark around her, so it's hard to see," I said, trying to explain what it was like in there so they'd understand how hard it was to work.

"Is she in a hole they made in the ground, or was it there already?" he followed up.

"I didn't see any equipment, and the length of time necessary to dig something like that would have been greater than they had. The walls were pretty solid, so I'm guessing it was there, and they just dumped her in." I hated speculation, but we didn't have time to research every possibility right now.

Tank turned his external comm unit on to connect with Woody, and then said, "I need the prints for the warehouse where we're located five minutes ago. I want to know what the building was used for, and if there were any sub floor containers disclosed."

He turned back to me and said, "Anything else you need to share?"

I'd put a sample into the external scope and begun the process of running it through the identification database, so until I had an exact hit, there was nothing else for me to bring up.

I was about to say no, but for some reason, my mouth decided to work, and I said, "She's got a major knot on her head, near the back right hand side. There's a possibility she was knocked out with a bat. I don't think it's possible for her to have survived a hit hard enough to make that big of an egg without a concussion, too. She's tough and fighting hard to hang on, but she's got some serious injuries that we're going to need to treat as soon as possible. The human body can only handle so much, and she hasn't been trained to handle all that she's going through right now."

She had a concussion, a broken leg, a stab wound, and who the hell knew what else. I couldn't begin to guess what kind of damage that would do to her head, but the damage just from the physical injuries was enough to make me pause. She wasn't going to get out of there by her own steam. Whenever we cleared the way for her extraction, we needed to have a system to carry her in place. If we were still crawling around to avoid detection, we would need a sling or cart to assist us.

"I'll touch base with Manny about rigging something to help get her out when the time comes," I added, hoping that we were given the chance to use whatever Manny designed.

"I'll get Brown here, too," he said, highlighting the strange absence of our medic. Bobby was usually the first person on site for situations involving Stephanie. I'm sure there was a logical explanation for him not being here. There's no way he was missing this intentionally.

Tank was about to walk away, when I called back out to him. I don't know if it was the stress of the situation or what, but my mouth seemed to have a mind of its own today. I never voluntarily talked this much.

"After I get the exact compound she'd standing in, there won't be anything else for me to do from a tech standpoint. Do you need any help locating Juarez?"

I'd used my academic background to fight this battle as far as I could. I was up against a wall with what science could do, and now the other side of my personality was itching to rise to the surface. Sure, I'd used the GI bill to pay for my education, but people often forgot I still went through the same military training and service they had. There was a fight to be had, and I damn sure didn't want to be relegated to the lab for it.

Tank nodded, understanding what I'd left unsaid. "I've called in the wolves to handle the search. But once we have a location, I'll keep your offer in mind for the assault."

"Yes, sir," I replied, hoping I'd get the call.

The wolves were an internal codename for Hector, Binkie, Junior, and Zip. They could find a shadow in a room with no light, and they could sure as hell find some low life human traffickers. Their skills were all unique and effective, but when they combined, they hunted like a pack of wolves, which is where the name came from. They tended to fan out and use their various strengths to zone in until they surrounded their target. It was part instinct, part technology, and mostly just deadly honed skills that allowed them to always get their man. To date, when they'd worked together, they'd never failed to find their target. I felt better knowing they'd been called up as a unit and set off trying to find something to do to stay busy until Tank called us all in for the fight. Calling them up was always a last resort because when they hunted, just like real wolves, the prey usually got hurt.

The wolves might be in on the hunt, but once they'd found Juarez, I knew Tank would call in the fighters, and my trigger finger itched to get that call.


	7. Junior

_All the usual applies. Despite me wishing it were different, JE created the characters below._

_Jenny (JenRar) thank you again for your fantastic work as the beta on this story._

**Chapter 7 – Junior - Between a Dog and his Bone**

"Thank you, ladies," I said, flashing a smile as big as my face would allow and handing them each a fifty dollar bill. "I really appreciate your help."

Everybody in our unit had a specific purpose, and mine was often to sweet talk people into giving up the information we needed. The fact that I looked twenty-five and as pure as the driven snow with my blond hair and blue eyes was leverage enough to get most people to cooperate. I was ten years older than the average guy on the street would guess, giving me enough wisdom to know that the way I handled potential sources was in part my natural personality combined with overusing the manners my parents taught me. And I knew if my approach didn't work, Hector would come behind me and use the exact opposite tactic. Between the two of us, if there was intel to be had, we found it out.

Today, we were after the whereabouts of one Hernando Juarez, otherwise known as the fucker dumb enough to hurt Stephanie and therefore, condemned to die a slow and horrible death. To keep it simple, we were still referring to him as Juarez.

Tank had sent a coded text to me and the three men waiting in the Explorer that said simply, _Open__ the cage and let the wolves free_.

We'd known what he meant, so Hector, Binkie, Zip, and I set about finding Juarez. We were to locate him and notify Tank so that our commander could decide who got the honor of exacting justice RangeMan-style. If the situation forced our hand, we could kill him, but we knew Tank wanted to be involved. I was personally hoping he tried to fight his way out so we had an irrefutable excuse for taking him out. It wasn't Christmas yet, but that would make one hell of a present for me.

As soon as I shut the door to the SUV, Hector spun around and asked, "My turn?"

"Nah, amigo, I got this one," I told him, watching the disappointment appear on his face. "The ladies said they usually work two blocks down, closer to the water, because they have access to the alleys between the abandoned buildings."

I looked at Zip as I spoke, because he'd been the one to suggest we talk to the two hookers; he'd thought they usually stood somewhere else. Anything out of place was a potential clue, and this one was dead on.

"This morning, a gold colored van pulled up at their usual spot and paid them each two hundred dollars to relocate for the day. They were told it was in their best interest to avoid the area, because there would probably be cops there later. After that, the girls were all too happy to move."

We called that Lula Syndrome, in honor of Steph's friend, a former prostitute who had a reaction not unlike an allergy when the blue and whites were nearby.

"One of them did say in addition to the two guys up front, there was somebody sitting in a chair behind the driver, and he was turned around, speaking to someone behind him. She wasn't completely sure, but she said it sounded like he was telling the guy to watch 'her' in case she started waking up. They wanted to be in place before she was conscious." I finished reporting what I'd gotten by saying, "They said they haven't seen the van come back their way since."

"What time was this?" Binkie asked.

"They said it was early this morning, before the sun was up, but they couldn't be specific. Closest guess was between 0300 and 0500, but that isn't all that helpful," I replied.

Binkie shrugged. "Depends," he said in his usually short manner. "If they hit her apartment around 0200 and were out the door with her knocked out by 0230, what in the hell did they do to her in the time in between?"

None of us ventured a guess, but the mental images that popped into my head as possibilities made me wish once again that Juarez would try to fight so I could kill him with my bare hands. Then I'd have the satisfaction of knowing he'd paid for what he'd put Bomber through, and I'd get to see the shock on his face when he realized this wholesome looking country boy was going to be the last thing he saw before meeting his maker.

"Where to next?" Hector asked, turning back around and putting the truck in drive.

Zip spoke this time, looking up from his high powered laptop to say, "I've got a conversion van registered to a painting contractor that is Juarez's cousin, with an address a half mile from here. The registration says brown, so gold may not be that far off. I say we go see if it's at the office and take a look around."

It took less than three minutes to arrive at the address Zip gave us. We looked at each other after Hector shut off the SUV, and then silently got out, splitting up to take a different side of the building, like a pack of wolves closing in on its prey.

We worked without talking, doing the mental countdown from sixty to zero in our heads.

It was a well practiced choreography for entering a building – one that had been used enough to guarantee the element of surprise. We each found a point of entry, and with the countdown finished, we entered as silently as possible and proceeded through the building, clearing each area we encountered as we went and meeting in the center if we didn't find anything of interest first.

I hit the back and verified no one was in the bathroom. There was a storage closet full of discarded paint cans, providing legitimacy to the business, and an office that had a clipboard with nothing written on it, no files in the cabinet, and a PC that looked to be at least ten-years-old. At least if we had to hack into it, I knew Zip wouldn't have any trouble. Anything that old wouldn't have any kind of sophisticated security measures to hack.

Everything was silent, until I heard Binkie's voice echo, as though in a big open space, "Son of a bitch!"

As a rule, we only spoke if we'd found something that demanded backup, so I stopped searching the obviously empty office and ran to find the source of Binkie's yell.

I stopped at the door behind Hector and looked at a faded brown van that was now a color that could certainly be classified as gold. Binkie was standing at the back with the doors open and his hand over his mouth. None of us had weak stomachs, so I doubted he was trying to hold back his breakfast. If anything, I think it was a vain attempt to rein in his anger at whatever he was currently looking at. I was torn between wanting to see what clues might be there, and not wanting to be forced to face the possibility of what Steph had endured.

Hector seemed to find his ability to move first, and my body followed out of instinct, more than desire. Zip joined us as we rounded the corner and got the full view of the back. The back bench seat had been removed, and on the paint-stained carpet of the back, there were several large blood spots, which were still red enough to be fresh. On the floor near the seat in the middle was a handful of brown curls, as though someone had gripped Stephanie's head and pulled her, and then discarded the hair that came out in the process.

We didn't need to call Hal or Bones to confirm what we were looking at. This was the vehicle used to kidnap Stephanie and carry her to the warehouse where she was being held now.

There was a softball bat under the passenger seat, proving that these guys were pussies of the highest degree. First, they couldn't even do the damage themselves, but needed tools to do the job. And second, if these were real men, they'd own a Louisville Slugger, not some bottle-shaped bat.

Zip pulled out his phone, snapped a few pictures, and then sent them to Tank and Woody to get to anyone that needed to know. We were identifying the other guys involved in Steph's kidnapping, but that didn't mean we were any closer to finding the guy pulling the strings.

Before I could say just such a thing aloud, we heard the front door open and two voices with thick Spanish accents alerted us to the company about to join our party.

They walked right into the garage where we were still standing around the back of the van. The shorter guy in the front stopped walking, and then blurted out, "Who are you?"

There wasn't even enough time from when his question ended until he hit the floor with a hole in his thigh for me to see that Hector had drawn his gun and shot him.

I looked over at the guy I was typically partnered with when the Wolf team went out and said, "Nice shot."

He shrugged, displaying his typical humility, and then responded, "Mama said to start the way you want to finish."

I looked at the baby on the floor screaming that he'd been shot and telling the guy behind him to do something. "Smart woman," I said, agreeing with her advice, and then looked at the tall guy, who was glancing at the door, as though calculating the probability that he could make it out before one of us aimed at him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I warned, trying to show once again why I was the polite face for our team.

"Why not?" he asked, attempting bravado, but the crack in his voice gave away his fear instead.

"Because he'll shoot you," I advised, taking a step closer.

The tall idiot glanced at Hector, who had already put his gun away, and then looked back at me, feeling a little more confident. "With what, his finger?"

Binkie took the shot he'd lined up as soon as the first jackass went down and let the tall guy join his partner on the floor.

We gave them a few seconds to get the initial shock of being shot out of their systems and hoped their hysterics would settle, as well.

Then Hector stepped between them. "You will tell us what we want to know." There was no doubt in his voice.

"What do you want?" the shorter of the two asked.

"Who are you?" Hector began.

It took a little encouraging, but we eventually found out these were Juarez's cousins.

"Where is Hernando?" Hector asked as a follow up.

They both did a nervous glance at each other, and then shook their heads, claiming to have no knowledge of his whereabouts.

I decided I was tired of playing the nice guy – a switch that rarely happened, but when it did, it usually spelled trouble for somebody. "I can see we're wasting our time," I announced, giving them a false sense of security. "Why don't we erase any evidence of our presence," I suggested, before kneeling down in front of the smaller of the two and sticking my finger directly in the hole in his leg and moving it around in search of the bullet Binkie had lodged against the bone. "Damn, this is hard to get out; I think I might need to make the opening a little bigger."

"Nah, man," Hector said with a huge grin. He loved having someone play with him, and it was rare the sadistic side in anybody came out enough to be on par with his. "Pliers; you should go in with pliers."

I reached my bloody fingers out toward Zip, who carried a hunting knife on his thigh. "Let's do both. Hey, man, give me your knife so I can make the opening a little bigger, and then we'll find some pliers to extract the bullet."

There was little girl-style screaming coming from the floor in front of me, but I took Zip's knife anyway, appearing unphased by the man's pleas for mercy.

I put the point of the knife against the blood on his skin and said, "You want a second to search your memory bank for where your cousin is hiding?"

"He's keeping an eye on the broad we dropped off at an old warehouse nearby. That's all I know – I swear," he babbled.

I believed him, but the way his partner was watching him told me he knew a little more, so I pushed the knife in his leg anyway, hearing his pain as music to my ears if it got us closer to saving Stephanie.

With the knife still in his leg, I looked at the taller man and said, "You're next, unless you come up with something more specific than what shorty here gave up."

Not breaking eye contact, I twisted the knife still in his leg and pulled it out only when the tall man shook his head.

"We dropped him off at the warehouse and left him there with the girl, after helping him get to the bottom of what she knew."

"You got info from _a girl_?" I asked, pretending to take offense at them torturing a woman, but in reality, I was doubting their claim that they'd gotten anything from Stephanie.

"No, she didn't know anything, but Hernando thought she could still be useful as bait, so we helped him set her up and rig the building to kill anybody that walked in. There's no way anybody will ever get to her," he claimed, obviously feeling proud of his role in the whole operation, which gave him enough courage to offer, "And with Hernando never more than a hundred yards away, he'll know when his guy shows up, and it will all be over then."

"Why a hundred yards away?" Zip asked, picking up on the same strange detail I had.

"He's got some kind of detonator that needs to be that close to work. As soon as the target shows up, he hits the button, and boom! The girl and the guy are finished," he explained, probably thinking he was showing how little he had to do with the operation, since Hernando was the one who was going to finish everything, but in reality, he was just adding details to his death certificate.

Hector then looked at the short guy and asked, "You own the bat?"

Shorty didn't hesitate to look over and say, "No, it was his," pointing to the guy beside him.

Binkie bent down this time and asked, "You need a bat to make you feel like a man while hurting a woman?"

"I don't need it," he stupidly responded, "but it makes the job go faster, and you don't get your hands as dirty."

"Oh..." I jumped in, seeing everything around me in a haze of red. I needed to get a grip soon, or I was about to do something I might regret later. "You mean, you want to keep your hands clean?" I eyed the knife in my hand, wondering if the blade was sharp enough to cut through the bones in his wrist to remove a hand, in order to keep it cleaner than the state the rest of him was about to be in.

"I didn't know the girl; I was just following orders." He saw my focus on the blade in front of me and seemed to feel the need to back pedal.

We had a one hundred yard radius to search to find Hernando, and we knew he'd be sticking there, especially since he obviously needed the satisfaction of knowing when Ranger arrived so that he didn't blow the building too soon. I knew that place was crawling with guys now, so he was probably even closer than the maximum distance so that he could get the verification he needed before hitting the trigger.

"Hey, Zip," I thought aloud. "Is there a way to jam all remote control signals?" I was curious if it were possible to keep him from doing anything rash without him being aware of his impotence.

Zip grinned. "I've got just the thing back at the office."

I stood up, not willing to waste any more time with the pawns in front of us.

"What's the verdict?" Binkie asked, looking at the scum on the floor.

Zip spoke first. "They're useless."

I agreed. "We've gotten everything they have to give."

Hector nodded. "Si, nothing more here."

The men on the floor seemed to relax, misinterpreting our vote as meaning they were going to be left behind. In reality, Binkie was our executioner. He was the calmest of all of us and the least likely to act without the consensus of the group. Now that we'd all agreed they should be taken out, we trusted that he'd finish the job.

We began to walk away, not bothering to react to the two quick blasts from Binkie's sig, ending the lives of the men who didn't have enough backbone to stand up to their cousin and refuse to participate in the plan to hurt Stephanie.

We didn't have the ultimate person responsible, but knowing we'd exacted a little justice made us all feel better about the purpose for our hunt.

Back in the SUV, Zip asked Hector to take him back to Haywood. He'd get the gear he needed there to jam the radio controlled signals in the area, and then we could go to the warehouse and fire it up.

"How about cell phones?" Hector asked as we drove through the back streets.

"Sat phones will work fine, cell phones are iffy," he replied.

We knew Tank and the comm center in the RangeMan van would be equipped with satellite phones, so it might create a minor inconvenience for anyone else, it wouldn't slow us down any.

"The mic and receivers?" Binkie followed up.

"It's a closed circuit. We're good there," Hector replied.

"I'll run upstairs and fill Woody in on what we've got while you get geared up," I said to Zip.

Hector pulled up to the stairwell in the garage and kept the motor running while the three of us jumped out. I looked at Binkie, wondering why he was following along, and then remembered he hated using the same gun twice when it had been used for an execution. Self-defense was one thing, but what he'd done in the garage at the paint shop was something else entirely.

The only sound I could identify when I stepped out on the main floor was that of keys being abused on a keyboard. Then I heard a southern voice swear, before the squeaking sound of a dry erase marker came out.

"Ready to report," I called out from the doorway.

Woody spun around and said, "Thank God, because I need to focus on something other than that damn suicide button in Stephanie's hand."

I knew the psychological game of torturing someone to run down their defenses, and then giving them an out to take their own life, as though you were doing them a huge favor. The thought of Stephanie having one made my knees feel a little weak. She was just the type of person to use it – not to escape, but to keep us from getting hurt. We could save her from Juarez, but could we save her from herself?

I went through the info we'd gotten from the two guys at the paint shop and gave Woody the address so he could send a clean up crew to take care of what we'd left behind. I had to pause while he instructed Vince who to call from the floor to send over. By the time Eric and Caesar were done, I knew there would be no evidence left to connect RangeMan to the building, much less the possible missing persons that we'd just sent to their eternal doom.

"We're heading back over now to jam the signal from any remote control devices so that he can't detonate and bring the building down around Ranger and Stephanie. Then we'll resume the search. The places he can be hiding are quickly shrinking with this intel, so I estimate having a visual on him in under an hour," I guessed, trying to give the fastest possible time we could succeed.

Woody looked at the clock on the projected screen, and then grimaced.

"How much time do we have?" I asked, not convinced I wanted to know.

"Ranger will be on the ground in under ten minutes. We need to hold him off from the site until you stop the detonation signal. He's going to want to take out Juarez himself, so if you find him before the boss gets there, you're going to need to subdue him. There can't be a vote on this," Woody said, using the voice that told me he wasn't going to let us decide to pull Binkie in once more.

We had no choice. We could hurt him, torture him, bang him around, but he needed to be alive until Ranger could finish the job. The moment Juarez threatened the woman our boss called Babe, he'd lost the right to breathe. I consoled myself that even though I wasn't going to get the honor of ending Juarez's oxygen intake, I knew that Ranger wouldn't leave the job half done, either.

"Got it," I replied, confirming that we wouldn't act without permission. "I'll check in when we have him in sight."

Woody nodded, and then put his hand to his ear, indicating he had another call coming in. He went to the board and started scratching out notes about Ranger's location and arrival.

I spun around to get back to the garage and inform the pack what we were charged with doing. They seemed disappointed that we couldn't finish the job we started, but we also understood that Ranger would probably handle it better than we could.

Back at the warehouse, Zip told us to brief Tank, before he turned on the device to inactivate Juarez's remote.

"You got news?" Tank asked, somehow looking more imposing than I ever recalled him looking. He was one of the few men that seemed to get bigger with stress, instead of it beating him down with fatigue.

I gave the same report to him that I had to Woody, and he gave me the same instructions, as well. We were to catch and subdue, but under no circumstances were we to kill. Damn, we'd just have to be sure the subduing part was worth our while.

When Zip jumped out of the SUV, I noticed he was strapping on a different knife from the one I'd used at the paint shop. He looked up at me and grinned. "Maybe we can get you one for Christmas."

We huddled up and devised a plan to split into pairs and work the circle in opposite directions, meeting in the middle if necessary. Since I'd gotten the directive twice, I reminded everybody that we had been completely forbidden from executing the asshole. Then, to be sure nobody got an itchy trigger finger, I added the only motivation that I knew would keep us all in check.

"Besides pissing Ranger off, we don't know everything he's done to Stephanie yet to keep her in that hole in the ground. If he takes a secret to the grave, we might not be able to save her."

"Si," Hector stated his agreement. "We keep him alive to save Stephanie."

We went around the circle, making eye contact with one another, before breaking apart with no external signal. A couple of the young guys that had never seen our unit in action stepped aside when Hector and I walked past, moving away from Zip and Binkie.

"What in the hell are they doing?" one kid asked Manny, who appeared to be putting wheels on the bottom of a backboard.

I wasn't sure why he was doing it, but if we still had to belly crawl in and out, I figured it was probably a contingency plan to be sure they could get Stephanie out undetected if necessary.

Manny looked up and saw who the kid was referring to, before saying, "Get the hell out of the way, man. Don't you know not to get between a dog and his bone."

I struggled to keep my blank face on with that comment and walked away from the parking lot, clearing my mind of everything that would attempt to keep me from focusing on finding Juarez.

I couldn't kill him, but I was taking a lot of comfort in the idea that I could make him wish for death to come.


	8. Cal

_All the usual here – JE, not me. Anything else is just wishful thinking on my part._

_Jenny (JenRar) otherwise known as the world's greatest beta. Thank you for working with me on this story and everything I write in the future (what, you thought I'd let you retire at some point?)_

**Chapter 8 - Cal - Secrets and Revelations**

I wrapped the end of the rope around my hand once more, hoping to take the cutting pressure off my palm from the single rope that was digging into my skin. I knew I'd have a bloody gash running through the center of my hand when this was all over and done, but I didn't care a bit about that. I covered more of my hand, because I wanted to be sure that I had the ability to stay here long term, and I couldn't let the obvious sign of a cut give somebody cause to want me to leave so they could have my place in front of Stephanie.

I heard a voice in my ear that I thought was Manny. "You realize you were drafted in there to keep her entertained, not just to be silent muscle." He sounded irritated to have to remind me of my purpose.

I didn't have trouble talking. Despite the first impression I might give off, I loved being around people and took it as a personal challenge to make as many of them laugh as possible. This wasn't my usual setting for getting a laugh, but I loved beating impossible odds.

Steph's expression showed she was a million miles away. There was a piece of me that wondered if I should let her be with her thoughts. As long as she was distracted with whatever place she'd fallen into in her head, she most likely wasn't thinking about the easy out in her hand.

No sooner had I thought that, then her hand tightened and a tear fell across her dirt-smeared check.

"Hey, Steph," I said immediately, finally getting the reason the guys wanted me to talk. Apparently, when left to her own devices, where her mind went for solace wasn't a place we could guarantee to bring her back from. I had to get her back to the present and focused on me.

Her eyes looked up and focused on my face. "Hey, Cal," she replied, probably out of habit more than a desire for conversation.

"How would you like to hear the story of my tattoo?" I asked, knowing she'd been bugging me about that for the last year. I didn't have anything against telling her, but refusing the details was fun, because she'd get huffy and I could see the determination in her eyes grow with each attempt she made to get the truth.

The spark in her eye now was faint, and I would have missed it if I hadn't been looking directly at her. She definitely wanted to know. So as long as I kept talking, I knew I could keep her thinking about something other than when she should end everything.

"Have you ever gotten drunk and done something so stupid that when you woke up the next morning, you wished it were possible to beat your own hung-over ass?" I lead her on with the question.

She paused for a minute, and her eye narrowed slightly. "I guess so. I've definitely had an 'oh my God, what have I done' moment."

I smiled at her response. "For the record, you'll be sharing that story when I'm done."

She rolled her eyes and looked amused briefly, letting me know that the Stephanie we all loved was still in there; she was just hidden behind the fear and pain of all she'd been through, and the potential for what might happen in the future.

Lester was watching me carefully. It was strange to see him so focused and serious. We all knew he had it in him, but it was a bit unnerving to see him as more machine than man at the moment, so I moved my attention back to the woman in front of me.

"I'd gotten out of a bad relationship while I was still in the Navy. When we broke up, half the western seaboard had to know about it, because it was loud – including breaking things and screaming about all our dirty laundry to the point that I knew I'd have to move apartments, because my neighbors undoubtedly wouldn't want me around after knowing half of what we were digging up from our past."

Stephanie was known around town as much for her formerly explosive relationship with the cop Morelli as she was for blowing stuff up as a bounty hunter. If anybody could understand the kind of scene I was describing, it would be her.

"I finally realized that we'd made it clear we were through, there would be no reconciling after some of what had been said, so there was no point in continuing to look at each other. We'd never see eye to eye; there were some things that couldn't be forgiven in a relationship, and we were breaking up over what I considered to be one of those things."

I'd looked into some of the details of her divorce with the aptly named lawyer and knew she understood exactly what I was talking about.

"Oh, Cal," she said softly, as though not only catching my drift, but empathizing with me at the same time. Only Stephanie would push her own hell away so she could feel sorry for someone else. I'd never known a heart as big as hers.

Realizing that kind of thought, while accurate, wasn't moving the story forward, I jumped back in. "So, I just stopped yelling, tightened my grip on the unopened bottle of Jack Daniels that had nearly flown across the room in anger, and walked out in the middle of the fight."

Her expression was softening, no doubt understanding what I'd been through.

"I threw the top on the ground and kept walking the half mile to get to the beach, taking long swallows straight from the bottle. I'm a big guy, and my alcohol tolerance has been carefully built up over time, but even with that, we'd screamed our way through dinner. So on an empty stomach, by the time I was halfway through the bottle of pure whiskey, I was feeling nothing. I saw the neon lights of a tattoo parlor, and with my friend Jack giving me a little fool's courage, I switched directions and walked right in."

Her forehead wrinkled, as she no doubt was trying to piece together the image she held of me with my story. "So you got the skull because you were drunk and angry?"

I smiled, realizing she'd fallen right into the place I wanted her to, and then shook my head no. I moved my arm so that my right elbow was hanging into her pit, and then looked down at my shoulder and said, "Lift my sleeve."

"What?" she asked, clearly confused about what I was saying.

"You've never seen me without a shirt on, right? I've never worn a tank top or a sleeveless muscle shirt in the gym. Have you ever wondered why that was?" I asked her.

I had to assume she was so confused about what I was saying that the editor she claimed would go to lunch was now asleep at the wheel, because she responded, "I never thought about it. I'm usually too busy staring at your ass in those tight running shorts you wear."

I couldn't stop myself from laughing out loud at her comment. I'd never caught her watching me, and it was equal parts compliment and ego boost to hear that she been admiring my backside. "Push up my sleeve as high as you can," I instructed once more.

She lifted her arms slowly and grimaced slightly when they began to rise above her shoulder. I'd been tortured once with my hands tied above my head, and I'd had the same reaction when I'd had to use those muscles after getting free. I tried very hard to bury the sudden need to kill someone for what she'd been through. I couldn't allow her to see the thoughts of murder in my eyes for fear that she would panic, thinking it was directed at her.

I watched her slender fingers work the tight sleeve of my RangeMan t-shirt up until she unveiled the tattoo I'd worked hard to insure no one ever saw. Just at the top of my shoulder, above my bicep, was a little bunny, complete with brown whiskers and pink lined ears.

Stephanie looked at it, blinked, and tilted her head slightly to the side, before saying, "It's a rabbit."

"No, it's a freaking bunny," I corrected her, feeling afresh the shame of such a girlie looking picture permanently etched on me.

"It's adorable," she said, in my mind fully making the argument for why I should hate it in just those two words.

"Exactly…Navy Seals are not _adorable_," I repeated her term, hating the feel of it in my mouth.

She had an indulgent smile on her face, as though she understood why I hated it, but felt as though I was making a much bigger deal out of the small tattoo than I needed to. "If you feel that strongly about it, why not have it removed?"

I nodded at her question. "I've thought about it, but I've left it there as a reminder to never again let myself get so shitfaced that I would lose control of all my facilities."

"You know, with your creativity, I'm surprised you still hide it," she said in an off-handed way.

"What do you mean?" I asked, before pointing out, "You realize the guys would give me hell for something this precious, right?"

"Only if they thought it bothered you," she replied, as though attempting to apply the old rule of if you ignore someone, they will go away. That rule doesn't apply to ex-military men.

She spoke again before I had a chance to point out the flaw in her logic. "No, I meant, you could have made up some complicated back story, like after spending the hottest night of your life having sex with some random stranger, who happened to be a tattoo designer, she straddled your chest and freehanded this little beauty as a reminder of the night you were so horny, you went at it like rabbits. If you turn it into a badge of manly pride, the guys wouldn't pick on you for it."

"Damn, I can't believe I never thought of that," I blurted out honestly, regretting that I'd never stopped beating myself up for my stupidity long enough to look at the situation in a different way.

"Of course, it does you no good, since I'm pretty sure everyone's heard the real story behind the tat now, so you're stuck with the truth." The curly haired brunette giveth, and then the smart mouthed woman taketh away.

I hung my head and shook it, before raising it and looking her in the eyes. "I'm sorry I was born an only child. I could have used a sister like you growing up to help me look at things the right way. It would have saved me a lot of self-inflicted suffering as I went along."

"Don't wish away your only child status. You can't pick your family, so you might have gotten some uptight, finger wagging perfectionist who could have made your life hell," she clarified, basically describing her sister back to me.

"Excellent point," I replied, impressed once again by her fast thinking.

"Please tell me this isn't the only tat story you're going to share," she said, letting her finger trace over the bunny I so abhorred.

"All right, you've worn me down asking over time, so I'll tell you why I got the cool skull on my head," I told her, getting a smile in return. This was an ink I'd done on purpose, so I had a great deal of pride in the design and the response it got when I met new people.

"After the blow up that I blame for the bunny..." I felt my lip draw up in a silent snarl when I referenced the cuddly little animal.

Stephanie's hand tightened on my arm, bringing my attention back to the present so I would keep telling her the story.

"Anyway, after I fully realized what I'd done during my drunken stupor, I went back to my apartment and slept for a full twenty hours. I was only home on a short shore leave, so I had to return to the ship a couple of days later. I spent the next day on the phone, making arrangements for a company to come and clean up the apartment, and I also called my landlord to terminate my lease. I knew I'd be back in another month when I'd have an extended leave, and I'd decided I'd stay in a hotel until I sorted out my life. I definitely didn't want to come back to that apartment and all the memories that would be waiting on me. When I returned to my base and the ship, I walked away from my old life completely."

Stephanie's fingers were moving softly, not pressing down enough to distract, and not light enough to tickle. Somehow, she knew exactly how to touch me to be reassuring and comforting. Few people ever got the balance right like she did.

"I did most of my work alone, so it wasn't unusual for me to go days without contact from other crewmen. I left the ship with my team of three other Seals for a rescue mission a week later. We departed from the ship and executed the plan perfectly; getting our targets out of the hell hole they were in a full week early and returning back to a hastily arranged rendezvous, which allowed us to return stateside early, as well. As we were saying goodbye and basically congratulating ourselves on a job well done, one of the younger guys serving with me said that he didn't care what the other guys on the ship said, he was honored to serve with me. I yanked him back by the collar of his shirt and asked what he'd meant by that. He eventually caved and said there had been speculation from a lot of the men about my sexual orientation. Apparently, someone in my apartment complex had heard the knock down, drag out fight and had gossiped and speculated about what our argument meant. Nobody had the courage to ask me directly, and since 'don't ask don't tell,' technically they weren't supposed to ask, either."

I saw a small smile on Stephanie's face, and I knew she'd connected the dots, but I kept on talking, since I'd promised her a story.

"I went to a hotel and thought about it. I'd fought before shipping out with my partner of the last year because of two major things. He felt as though I should be out and proud and had never understood what that would mean for me as a career Navy guy. Then, when I came home early on shore leave and walked in the apartment I'd paid for, I found him banging away on a tiny little cocktail waitress, and I realized that not only was he cheating on me, but he was doing it with a woman, which made him the biggest liar ever."

"Wait," she interrupted me. "He's a liar because he told you he was gay, and he was really bi-sexual?"

"No…well, yes – sort of." I took a deep breath, trying to keep my temper from coming through as it usually did any time I talked about this time in my life. "You are what you are, and you can't help who you're attracted to. I am a big guy, and I'm only into equally tough guys. I don't have anything against the stereotypical girlie guy, but that's not who I'm attracted to. We'd had long discussions before we tried for anything exclusive about what we wanted, and he swore he hated the soft bodies of the more feminized guys and definitely never wanted a woman – he was only interested in a guy whose body matched his own, muscle on muscle, hard toned bodies together. I felt fortunate that I could be with somebody who appreciated my build and who worked hard to maintain the same thing."

It sounded so shallow to say it aloud, but I'd given up apologizing for who I was years ago.

"When I saw them going at it on my couch and asked what in the hell was going on, his defense was that every so often, he needed something softer – something that reminded him that he was in charge. He said when he was with me, he felt like there was no true man in charge, because we were equally matched. I was pissed, so I told him I didn't know what universe he was living in, but I was always the stronger guy and the better fighter, so if there was a question of who was going to come out on top, it would have always been me. I knew he hated the idea that I was stronger than him, especially since he worked out so much, so I was basically declaring war with my comment."

"What happened to the girl he was cheating with?" Stephanie asked, hanging on everything I'd said.

I looked down for a minute, having always felt bad about this, "I have no idea. As soon as I basically declared myself the top dog, the screaming began, and somewhere between him throwing the lamp beside the sofa at me and my return volley of the same lamp that I'd caught and turned back on him, she slunk out the open door."

"Good. She deserved to be afraid of getting hurt for sleeping with somebody that was in a relationship," Stephanie pointed out bitterly, proving she had no sympathy at all for the woman he was screwing.

"He accused me of being ashamed of who I was and basically said if I were out in the open, he wouldn't feel the need to seek approval from somebody else. I reminded him that he was screwing a woman, which meant he'd lied to me about what he wanted in the first place, so my being out or not made no difference at all in what he'd done. Then, every little argument we'd ever had came out, and it just got uglier and uglier, making me realize we actually had very little in common other than our lifestyle, so I had to walk away."

"Of course you did. You deserve so much better," she said, proving herself as the one person on this earth that always seemed to have our backs.

"So I had all his words running around in my head after I got home, and then I had the words of that kid in there, too, that people wondered, but wouldn't ask, so I decided I'd had enough worrying about other people, and I came up with a plan. I walked back down to the same tattoo parlor and told them I wanted something right in the center of my forehead that would convey the message that I was a badass and I didn't want to be approached for stupid conversation. The guy behind the counter grinned and showed me the flaming skull, and I handed over my credit card."

"Wait. You got the tat to scare people off?" she asked, as though I hadn't explained it well. "But why should you scare people away? It might have kept you from meeting the one person that could fit perfectly in your life."

I nodded, conceding her point. "At the time, I was so pissed, I didn't want a person to fit into my life. I was convinced I'd never find what I needed and it was easier to just advertise up front that no matter who it was or what they thought they wanted, I wasn't interested. I didn't like the fact that it seemed what I needed wasn't possible, and I refused to settle for something else, just because it was what was available to me."

"Oh, Cal," she said again, still feeling sorry for me, but doing it in a way that made me think she understood the exact emotion I was trying so hard to verbalize. "Have you ever regretted it?"

I gave her a laugh that probably didn't convey my real amusement at her question. "Not really. It did exactly what I wanted it to for the remaining year I was in the service. After I got out, it still kept people from asking about my private life, and I like to think it eliminated any speculation, too. By the time I landed at RangeMan, people knew my record from the Seals and everybody here is good about keeping their noses out of shit that they aren't invited into, so the tat didn't matter."

"So there's no one you've been interested in since then?" she followed up.

I could feel the change in the color of my face, hating my Irish coloration that allowed me to blush occasionally.

"Spill," she tried to sound commanding, but she was obviously running on fumes, because there was very little strength to her voice.

I shook my head. "How about we make a deal," I said, trying to hook her into giving me her word for something. I knew Stephanie wouldn't lie to me, so if I could get her to promise, then we could all rest a little easier.

"What kind of deal?" She was suspicious for good reason.

"There is someone I'm interested in, and I've never manned up and told him. Since he doesn't know, I don't think I should say it over the comm unit, but I'll tell you who it is after we get you out of here, and you can help me figure out how to come clean," I tried bribing her. "You keep fighting to get out of here, and I'll tell you everything you want to know."

She seemed to consider it for a minute, and then said, "How about you tell him as soon as you get out of here, and _if _I make it out, too, then you can tell me what he said."

"When," I corrected.

"As soon as you can find me," she replied, misinterpreting what I'd asked.

"No, I meant _when_ you get out, not _if_," I clarified, trying to force her to believe that we'd get her out of here.

Her fingers stopped petting the damned animal on my arm, and she took a shaky breath. "Cal, I'm not making a promise I can't keep. Hal told me that if I push this button, I'll fry anyone hanging onto the ropes, so I'm trying to remember that and not just take the coward's way out. But if we get to the end of my time window, I'm not going to allow Ranger to be killed trying to save me. Even if he succeeded, I think we all know the guys that took me aren't the type to keep their word and let me go free. I'm not making it out of here. The only question that remains is whether I'll cave and do it myself, or if I'll be able to hold out and let Juarez finish what he started."

"Ah, angel, you can't talk like that," I said, unable to bear the solid reasoning behind her words.

She chuckled, and I hated the way it held no humor at all – it was a dry laugh, devoid of emotion and completely contrary to her usual spirit. "You know, it's strange. Usually, I'm the one living in denial land and you guys are trying to get me to face the truth. The tables are really turned now, since I seem to be the only one looking at this realistically and you guys all have your head in the sand."

She was right, but I'd never admit. "You forget one thing," I said, desperate to chip away at her facts.

"What's that?" she asked, still listening.

"Ranger. Never. Loses." I stated each word individually to make their meaning carry more weight. "He has faced impossible odds so many times and found a way through that even bookies in Vegas would refuse to bet against him. I can't explain how he does it, but I'd served under him enough to know that he always managed to get his guy and complete his mission. Something tells me he would consider this the most important thing he's ever set out to do. Ranger will not fail."

She shut her eyes as I said the last sentence, and then whispered, "He's Batman, right?"

"Nah, he's better than Batman, because he doesn't have to hide behind gadgets and a skin tight suit to get the job done," I added.

"I'm trying," she stated sadly. "I don't want to give up hope, but it's hard from where I am standing."

I wished my hands were free so that I could touch her. "Do you believe in us?" I realized I needed to exploit her big heart here and hoped she wouldn't resent what I was doing.

"With all my heart," she said firmly.

"Do you trust us?" I followed up.

"With my life," she affirmed what we all knew to be true.

"Then act like it," I challenged. "We're pulling out all the stops to figure out what Juarez has done here so that we can get you out. If you really trust us and you really believe in us, then try to relax and let us do what we're trained to do. We're good all the time, but we've never had a motivation as great as we do at the moment to bring only our top game. You're getting out of here. The only question is whether or not Ranger will be the one to pull you out of here, or if you can tell him about it from the comfort of your bed because we managed to do it before he arrived. You say you believe in us, so don't you dare give up on us while we're fighting for you."

Another of those damn tears fell down her cheek, and I was powerless to wipe it away without letting go of the sling that was keeping her weight off her leg.

"Will you answer a question honestly?" she asked me before the tear fell away.

"I've never lied to you, angel," I replied, not intending to start now.

"If I hit this button, will it really take you with me?" she asked, looking directly in my eyes.

Well, fuck me. She had to push me for honesty on the one question I didn't want to answer. Hal had manufactured a bullshit reason to keep her from ending it all right now, and if I were honest, I would take away what was probably the only reason she was still hanging on.

I lifted my head so she could see how serious I was and said, "Angel, you hit that button, and it will kill me." I never said it would be electricity that would do it. Honestly, I felt as though her dying in front of me would stop my heart from beating. At the very least, I think it would be a fair statement to say that the life and heart at RangeMan would be gone forever, and that would be a fate worse than death.

"All right, you win. I'll hang on and trust you guys to get me out of here," she promised, as though she were completely defeated.

It was obvious she was seriously injured, her energy was long gone, and she hadn't eaten in who knows how long. Stephanie was a woman that appreciated and needed food, so in some ways, that might be the biggest problem for her. I might have gotten her to agree to hang on, but there was only so much she could do. If we didn't get her out of here soon, she might not make it.

"Where the hell is Bobby?" I asked as softly as possible, not wanting to draw Steph's attention to her physical issues.

"I'm on my way in now," his deep voice replied in my ear.

I looked down to hide my relief that he was coming. I'd done what I could to keep her mind occupied, and if she needed to be distracted, I had plenty of adventures gone wrong that I could share, but right now, she needed something I couldn't provide, so I'd happily drift into the background and support her with the ropes wrapped around my hands so that Bobby could do his thing.

While he was working with Stephanie, I could use the time to plan out what I wanted to say to the guy I'd been crushing on for over a year. I wasn't smooth or what anybody would call a sweet talker, but if he was open to thinking about a future with me then I wanted to be sure I started things right and in a way we could remember without laughing about it.

Oh hell, who was I kidding. My life always worked best when I kept it simple. When I got out of this warehouse, I was going to walk straight over to him, put my hand on his back of his neck so that my thumb could trace that vein that stood out when he was angry, and say, "Binkie, I just spent an hour coming face to face with losing a person I know I need in my life, and it forced me to look at the fact that she isn't the only person I can't live without. If you'll have me…I'd like to be yours."

There were really only two possible responses to that. I'd either pull myself off the pavement and rub my bruised jaw before moving on, hoping the stress of the day would erase that scene from everyone's memories, or I could brace myself for the looks I felt like he had been giving me for months to shift from longing to perfectly executed action.

It was just after noon and after forty minutes in this warehouse, I was itching for some action.


	9. Bobby

_JE created the characters below._

_Jenny (JenRar) thank you for your hard work as the beta on this story. Anything that shines is all because of you._

**Chapter 9 - Bobby - Pickles and Ice Cream**

"Screw it, I'm tired of waiting," I yelled at the red light in front of me, before ramming the accelerator and driving straight through the intersection. Who knew what kind of state Stephanie would be in, all because I was asleep and some jackass made the determination not to wake me until they had something definite to go off of regarding her condition.

I'd been up through the night trying to put a contract worker back together after he got shot following a skip into a house that turned out not to be his. In order to avoid charges for breaking and entering and liability issues for RangeMan as the person employing him when he acted outside the law, I had to handle most of the repair myself. It was well above my pay grade, but by 0600, he was sleeping comfortably in my exam room and I had collapsed after a shower to get rid of the blood that covered me.

If I hadn't gotten up to use the john, I wouldn't have known my pager was practically tap dancing on the floor, and who knows how late I would have been in getting here. When all this was over and done I was going to have somebody's ass for not waking me up.

I threw together a second response bag from my store room of supplies, still not sure what I'd need to take care of by the time I got to the site where Stephanie was being held and knowing I couldn't just come back for more gear. The voicemail had made it abundantly clear that she was hurt and we now had just under two hours to get her out or we'd risk losing her forever.

Fuck. That. We ain't losing Stephanie on my watch.

I pressed my middle finger against my right temple to add some contra pressure to the major stress headache I had going on. It felt like someone was trying to poke my eye out the front of my head with an ice pick. I didn't need a cuff to take my own BP; it was no doubt through the roof. I could feel my elevated heart rate, and the stress that flooded my system when I first saw the all employee emergency page had then doubled in frustration when I heard the voicemail and did the math for how long we had left based on the time stamp.

I'd stopped officially running missions just over a year ago, making RangeMan my full time gig. I was out of practice in handling the rush of adrenaline that these kinds of situations brought with them, but I knew I could handle it. I took a few breaths and began running through the mental checklist of what injuries I might see and trying to figure out how to assess her physical condition if she were still in a pit in the ground with limited visibility around her. This is what I was trained to do, and by the time I got in to where she was, I'd be on top of this panic and ready to take care of our girl.

I took a few deep breaths, and then swore again. I sounded like a freaking woman in labor. Why was I even _thinking_ about women in labor? It's not like I had children – I'd never even been _in_ a delivery room. But there is something calming about deep breaths. I couldn't stop the smile at the idea of Stephanie having a baby. She'd made it clear on many occasions that she wasn't really interesting in having children of her own. But the image of her waddling around the office with her RangeMan shirt stretched over her round stomach would be adorable.

And the cravings…oh man, we think her eating is something to see now…I can't imagine her trying to keep her beast satisfied eating for two and throwing in hormones giving her those strange hankerings. Of course, pickles and chocolate ice cream sounded pretty normal compared to olives and peanut butter. I've heard that after the first trimester, once the mother is feeling better and the hormones are continuing to flood her system, she gets totally horny. I wondered what would happen if she had to give up sugar because of the pregnancy. Could anybody keep her satisfied if she had to go without sugar and her body was making her think about sex, too? I remembered a night when Ranger had a few shots with us and told us about her jelly doughnut hormones. We'd all thought he was a damn fool for not finding a way to get her completely off sugar and keeping her as close as possible to him 24/7 in order to satisfy all those longings the doughnuts were no longer covering up. Baby belly or not, I'd definitely help her out with any needs she might have.

I shook my head to clear it from the stupidity I'd allowed to take over. Stephanie wasn't pregnant – and even if she were, it would probably be Ranger's. If I know one thing about that guy, it's that when it comes to her, his protective instincts are off the charts. If anything, the thought of her swelling with his child would just increase his need to watch over her. I'm pretty sure he could make the balls shrivel up and drop to the ground on anyone that even _thought_ about having impure thoughts about Stephanie. And he'd know – I don't know how he'd know, but he would. Ranger's just freaky like that.

Of course, if you asked them what the deal is between them, you'd usually get either a blank stare from Ranger, or a shoulder shrug and a blow off comment like "it's complicated" from her. There's nothing complicated about it. They are absolutely hooked on each other. No one else even comes close, and for some oddball reason, they're both scared as shit to act on it. So they sneak these encounters in places like a back alley so things can't progress too far. Although there was the one time when he returned to Haywood with Stephanie in his Porsche and handed me the keys. I could have sworn it had that just screwed in smell. Sex in a sports car – man, I knew she'd be a wildcat in bed.

I pulled into the parking lot, which was swarming with black vehicles and RangeMan staff. Hell, who needs GPS directions; I could have just followed the office uniforms to find the right spot.

I jumped out and grabbed the two bags of gear, putting one on my back and picking up the duffle to carry in. I walked over the van, where I figured Tank would be heading things up. He gave me a quick look over, and then said, "You'll have to go in on your belly. The backpack will have to go."

"I'll rearrange some things," I told him, so he'd know I understood. I knew the place had been tricked out to keep us from just walking in, but in a couple of hours, I was surprised they hadn't found the problems and resolved them.

There was no reason to point fingers. I figured everybody was already aware of the stakes here, and it was impossible to make them any higher than Stephanie's life. I was sure everything that could be done was being handled.

"You talked to Ranger?" I asked, needing to know how close we were to ending this nightmare.

I got a single head nod. Great…I needed information, and Tank had turned into Mr. Stoic. It's a good thing Steph was in the pit and not out here. She'd hate trying to drag information out of the big guy. Of course, she'd be able to do it, which meant there's another reason why she should be out here.

I guess I was staring at him in an expectant way while I was ruminating how to get a few more details, because Tank let out a breath and said, "He's in Trenton. He said he had a couple of stops to make. Hal and Bones got us confirmation on who did this, the wolves got us two of the guys involved in the kidnapping and took them out after getting an estimated location for Juarez, and now they're hunting his exact coordinates. He'll come right after he's picked up a couple things he says are needed and after he's eliminated Juarez. Said as long as Juarez is alive, she has to stay in that hole. It's the only safe place for her."

"What am I walking into?" I asked, curious if he already knew of any injuries I needed to be prepared to handle.

"Crawling into," he corrected, reminding me why Ranger had made him his number two in charge.

I nodded that I got it, and he filled me in, "We don't know the full extent of things, but she has a broken leg and her face has been bashed in pretty good. There's a major goose egg on her head that came from a softball bat, and there's some kind of bandage on her upper arm from a knife wound. That's all we can easily see. She hasn't volunteered much else, and I get the impression from what the guys are saying who have seen her that there's probably more damage than what we can see – enough to make you want to rip the head off something."

"How do we know the leg is broken?" I asked, holding out hope it was just badly bruised, or maybe was a slight fracture.

"She told Les there was bone sticking out of her leg," he returned with a completely blank face.

I knew it wasn't a cold heart that wiped all emotion from his face; it was the exact opposite. The thought of her being tortured to the point of snapping her tibia or fibula was enough to drain all sane thoughts from my head. If I let it, I could easily let the thought of revenge take over. I knew, though, that it wasn't my place to think that way.

Revenge was Ranger's job, and he'd take it very seriously. Last week, Tank had called Zip to the mats for allowing Stephanie to skin her knee when a skip pushed her down during a distraction. She might have fallen as much from her own clumsiness as from the momentum from the skip, but the rule of "keep Stephanie safe" was a standing order from Ranger that had clearly defined consequences. If we had to accept an ass kicking for letting her get a barely visible strawberry on her knee, this bastard wasn't going to see the sunset tonight.

I knelt and repacked my bags so that they would flatten enough to allow me to crawl through to reach her. After I was sure I had everything I'd need to address what Tank had described, I put on the mic and ear receiver he handed me, and then took off at a jog to get there faster.

I tossed the bags and dropped to my stomach in a maneuver I'd performed thousands of times in drills, training, and real life. Just before I started pushing the bags ahead of me and crawling in, I heard Cal's voice ask where I was.

I could hear something in his voice that didn't sound right. I knew he generally handled fear and anger well, having served in some nightmare missions by his side. Everybody knew he was good with the happy stuff, too – he was one of the rare people on staff that could keep up with Santos telling stories. But the one thing Cal struggled with was pain. He hated to see people suffer and had hit the ground in a complete faint more than once when there was a combination of suffering and something he described as gross body stuff in front of him. Hell, I'm pretty sure he'd passed out when Steph's sister went into labor. If something was bothering Cal, I had a feeling I was about to understand as soon as I cleared the crate in front of me.

"I'm on my way in now," I assured him, hoping whatever he was struggling would hold while I took care of Stephanie.

I'd been a medic in the US Army. Uncle Sam had trained me, and then taxed every skill they'd instilled, sending me on tours where war wasn't a concept, but a reality. I figured with my background, there was very little I hadn't seen, so whatever was around the corner would be something I could handle.

This would be the one time I would be completely wrong. I'd treated friends and kids who definitely didn't deserve what had been done to them, but when I looked at her face and saw just the tip of the iceberg of the damage done to her, I felt like I was looking at my heart wrenched from my body. We all loved Stephanie – some like a sister, others as a friend, and a few as something that could never be – but love isn't wrong, it just is, and looking at her beaten and suffering, there was no doubt that my love for her was going to make treating these injuries the hardest thing I'd ever done. How do you maintain a level of professionalism while wanting to cut off her shirt and clean her wounds while pressing your lips to her skin to ease the pain? Ranger having my ass for kissing her was the least of my worries at the moment. My eyes were blurry, and it had nothing to do with sleep deprivation.

_Get a fucking grip, Brown._

"Hey, baby," I announced my presence, before adding, "I hear you need a little medical attention, and I just happen to make house calls."

The single eye that she could still open fluttered a little, as though she were fighting hard to stay conscious. Knowing about her head injury and the bleeding, I was instantly on edge if she was having trouble staying awake. This had "oh shit" written all over it.

She gave me a faint smile, but didn't say anything in return.

I moved close enough to put my hands on her shoulders. "Just relax, Steph, and I'll take care of everything." My training taught me to be soothing and confident in my interactions with injured people on the battlefield. If they believed you could save them, they would continue fighting to stay alive so you could succeed.

I decided to start from the top and work my way down. I took a quick pulse and found myself mentally encouraging her heart to beat faster. It was dangerously low, making me wonder how she was managing to stay awake at all.

There was limited room, and I was going to have to do a lot of my work by feel, which definitely made it harder, but not impossible. "Let me see that head," I told her, knowing Stephanie always wanted to know what I was doing.

As I felt around, I easily identified the goose egg Tank spoke of and knew an MRI wasn't necessary. She had a concussion, and based on this pattern of swelling, there was definitely some internalized bleeding. The human body was amazingly adaptable, and I knew her body could reabsorb that if no additional trauma occurred, but I also knew this was Stephanie, which made additional trauma a near certainty. I could ice it, but because of the amount of time that had passed since the injury, I doubted it would do any good.

I looked down to her arm and saw a makeshift bandage. "Can I take this off?" I asked, knowing it was probably stuck to her.

If the bleeding had stopped, a plain cotton sock would turn into glue as the blood clotted against her, binding with the fibers. I pulled it away as gently as possible, apologizing when she winced. Her tolerance for pain was remarkably high, especially considering her lack of training and conditioning. I knew that little wince would have produced a much bigger response from another person.

A gash about three inches long and deep was under the rag. My guess was a standard hunting knife had done it, and when she'd jerked to get away, it had made the cut jagged and torn at the skin, instead of slicing straight through. _Fix what you can, as fast as you can_, I told myself, quoting my field instructor. I grabbed a quick suture kit and started sealing the wound. I gave her a topical, but didn't really think it was necessary. She was sinking somewhere in her head, and I figured the pain in her arm was no longer registering. Mainly, I numbed it to keep one of the guys from riding my ass for stitching her straight because they would assume I was hurting her.

I was going to examine her torso, but when I touched her sides, my hands were on metal. "What the hell is this?" I asked. Had she been involved in some kind of dress up play where she was playing a knight? Had she been fitted for some strange medieval chastity belt?

Lester answered, "It's wired to the detonation in her hand and has an electrical plate in it. If she hits the button, she gets pure voltage to turn out the lights for good."

His jaw was clenched, and his eye was twitching. I knew this guy, better in many ways than I knew myself, and he was exhibiting every single marker for a Santos flip out. The years he'd spent learning to control himself were being challenged as never before. If she hit that switch and took her life, I'd never get Lester back. He wouldn't survive it, even if his life continued for years after this. This was no longer about just saving her life. It was about saving us all.

I used a pin light and tried looking around the arm holes, but couldn't see much. There were bruises, but I couldn't tell if they were severe or if they just looked that way because of the dirt on her body. If her face was any indication, they hadn't been concerned about infection and keeping her clean.

I had to let it go and stop wasting time on her midriff, knowing there was nothing I could do about it now. Instead, I moved to her legs. My arms weren't long enough to reach the break, but I got a mirror down in the pit, and once I figured out the right angle with my pin light, I was able to see the break. The bottom of her leg was a swollen, bloody mess.

"Bastards," I growled through tightened teeth.

She'd lost a lot of blood, and I could see from her eyes and skin that she was majorly dehydrated.

"Hey, Steph, how about I put a line in your hand, and we'll see about making you feel better."

"Good luck with that," she said with slightly slurred speech.

I realized this was more than what saline could do.

_Meet each need as you come to it and figure out what the next step should be while you work. A medic has to __multitask, or__ people die, soldier_. That damn instructor on my shoulder was going to get on my nerves. Still, the advice had always served me well, so I grabbed a bag, pre-rigged to plug in, and set about finding a vein. I had assumed she was telling me good luck with making her feel better, but at the moment, I was thinking she might have been wishing me luck with getting a needle in her at all.

After getting the fluids going, I turned to the next issue. She had lost a lot of blood. The injury to her leg was severe, and the stab to her arm didn't help, either. But the tops of her legs were crusted in burgundy, as well, telling me something on her torso was bleeding, too. I didn't carry pints of O negative with me, but there was a fresh source in the parking lot.

"Tank," I spoke loudly in my mic.

"Yo," came his monosyllabic response.

"I need you to get Zero and ask if he will let me tap his vein," I instructed.

"He'll be right there," Tank, replied as though no asking were necessary.

"Tank, man," I said, stopping him. "I need a source to put Stephanie up a little. Be sure Zero knows what I'm asking for before you send him in."

There was no response, until I heard the deep bass voice of Zero behind me asking, "Where do you need my vein?"

"Don't…needle…me…Zero…'kay?" Stephanie was losing it quick, and I knew I didn't have time for pleasantries.

"This may hurt," I told him, taking the needle in my hand, grabbing his arm, and plunging in the act I'd done thousands of times. I got him on the first try, which was a minor miracle, as I usually called him turnip, quoting the old expression that you couldn't get blood from one to amuse myself as I went searching. The other end of the tubing I rigged as a direct connect transfusion, and after a little finagling, I had her connected, too.

Cal's head had been turned the opposite direction, but for some reason, my comment about pain for Zero got Cal's attention, and he turned to look. I was about to tell him not to, but he was faster than my mouth, and he took in the outstretched arm of Zero, followed the tubing into the pit where I was holding Stephanie's arm up to receive the life giving liquid, and then his face lost all color.

"Cal," I barked, using the harshest voice I could to get him to snap out of it. "Look somewhere else and breathe through your mouth. You pass out, and you'll drop Stephanie."

He began blinking.

Lester realized what I was trying to prevent, and he jumped in with, "Cal, I'll kick your ass if you drop Stephanie. You'll jar the shit she's standing in, and you may set off the trap explosive. If you get me blown up, I'll kill you myself."

"Dude," Zero said sarcastically, "you can't kill somebody if you're dead."

"True, but he could haunt him," I replied, wishing the sudden joking would help in some way.

"Can you haunt a ghost?" Cal asked, his face starting to show a little color again, as he wisely focused on Lester, and not me or Zero and the blood passing to Stephanie.

"Bobby," Stephanie's weak voice called out, stopping our foolishness and getting all our attention.

"Yeah, Bomber?" I asked, leaning in to hear what she might need to say.

"Did you drug me?" she asked, licking her cracked lips, as though the dryness was bothering her.

"No, baby..." I tried to explain, "I can't give you anything for the pain because of how low your heart rate is. I can't risk slowing your system down any more than it already is until we get you revived a little."

She shook her head no, as though I had misunderstood her question. "No, not pain. I could have sworn I heard you guys talking about haunting dead people, and I figured either I was hallucinating because of the mess I'm in, or you'd shot me up with something."

I smiled and squeezed her hand. "Nah, this is just how we handle high stress situations."

"You lose your minds?" she said with a slight smile.

"Can't lose what's not there, Beautiful," Lester replied, showing his ability to rise to a challenge of quick wits.

"Speak for yourself," Cal responded, taking mock offense.

Stephanie tightened her fingers around my hand and squeezed me in return. "I like this better."

"What do you like?" I asked, wanting to keep her talking if possible.

"I like having you guys joking better than the serious panic you were giving me earlier. This is how I'd want to remember…"

She didn't say anything else, and the way my mind completed the sentence made me think she was implying if her life ended, being around her guys with us laughing and joking would be the way she'd want it to end. I didn't like that – at all.

Zero must have felt the same way, because he jumped in and said, "Bomber, you ain't going nowhere. You've got some Zero special in you, which means you can survive anything. I'm invincible, didn't you know?"

Her eyelid fluttered again, but when it stopped, she was more focused than she'd been a few minutes ago. There was definite improvement. "Invincible?"

"That's right," he said with his booming voice.

"How do you figure that?" she challenged, giving me hope that she was getting in touch with her inner fighter. If she'd work with me, then I figured she had a much better chance of getting out of this literal hell hole.

"You remember those brownies you made a few months ago?" he asked, bringing up one of the longest afternoons of my career.

Apparently, she'd decided to make something sweet to prove that she could, and set everything out on her counter, but then she fell asleep and forgot. She didn't come back to it for several days. When she cracked the eggs, she thought they smelled funny, but she was determined to do something nice for everybody and made them anyway. Since she refused to serve us burnt brownies, she intentionally undercooked them and personally delivered them to each of the guys on duty, standing there as they took a bite. Of course, everybody tried them, refusing to say no and hurt her feelings. Most of them even finished the treat, saying it wasn't so bad, so they decided to make her feel good by eating it all. Stephanie had left at lunch, a bounce in her step.

Two hours later, I'd gotten the first page from Binkie, saying he felt like shit and needed some help. Within half an hour, I'd had eight guys in the throes of full-fledged food poisoning. Between medicating them to settle their stomachs and the near constant clean up, I didn't have time to touch the brownie she'd left on my desk. After getting everybody's story of what they'd eaten, the only common denominator was the confection from our girl. So, even though she didn't mean to, she'd poisoned the very men she was trying to treat.

We had agreed not to tell her about it, but the contract worker in the control room hadn't realized she was the one that had made the brownies, so he'd told her the guys had gotten into what they thought were magic brownies, and it had nearly killed them. He'd been impressed with his attempt at a joke that a little marijuana-laced sweets would bring down such strong men, not realizing the person who was actually to blame was the one standing in front of him. She'd come downstairs as the guys were resting off the effects and moaning in their sleep.

I was tempted to punch his shoulder for bringing that up, except that the arm closest to me held the vein I was tapping to help Stephanie.

Zero seemed unphased by my death threat glare and kept talking. "I ate my brownie, and I was fine. I figure, either you had nothing to do with the guys getting sick, or I am truly invincible. And now you have a piece of me in you, so you can be invincible, too."

"Why do they call you Zero?" she asked, obviously distracted by the shit he was slinging.

He grinned at her, showing off the work that had probably bought an orthodontist a new car. "It's the number of unsatisfied customers, Bomber."

Then a beautiful thing happened. It was soft, but absolutely unmistakable. Stephanie laughed. And in that tiny floating sound, my heart began to beat stronger in my chest with the feeling of hope. She was fighting. She was hanging on, and she was going to make it out of here.

When that happened, I hoped to God I could use some medical training on her for something besides injuries and patch jobs like this. Hell, I think I could enjoy taking a class or two to keep my license up to date and study something beside triage and trauma care for a change. Maybe next time, I'd take a midwife course, just for shits and giggles.

"Hey, Steph," I blurted out, unable to stop myself. "How do you feel about pickles?"

Before she could answer, I heard Ranger's unmistakable voice in my ear. "She likes them, but don't you even think of asking if she's ever tried them with chocolate ice cream."

Freaky wasn't even close. The man didn't need a receiver; he could just read our thoughts.

"Glad you're here, man," I told Ranger, not trying to hide my relief. "You need some back up?" I was a medic, but damn it, I was fucking Army Ranger, too, and could definitely kick some ass over what Stephanie had been through.

"Negative," he replied, busting my bubble that I might get to flex my muscles. "You've got a battle to fight right there, and I expect to hear that you've done it well. I've got one piece of unfinished business to take care of, and then I'll be back to get her out."

"Got it," I replied, knowing he would be true to his word.

"Brown," he spoke once more.

I made a sound to let him know I was still listening.

"I don't need to tell you that you have the most important job of any of us, right?" He sounded different than I'd ever heard him. There was the element of danger that his voice always carried before he went off on his own, but it was laced with something else that I couldn't get a grip on.

"Relax, man." I wanted to assure him, but wasn't sure how to. "You'll have the chance to find out for yourself someday if the whole ice cream pickle thing is an old wives tale or not."

"Holding you to it, man," he said, his voice hardening back to the machine it needed to be for what he was about to do.

"I could really use some ice cream," Stephanie said, bringing me back to the fight I needed to focus on.

I pulled out the BP cuff, needing to check on Zero. There was no doubt he was bringing her back to us, but it wouldn't do to take too much from him. We all needed to be at the top of our game, and I couldn't handle what she was going to need when we pulled her out and have Zero struggling to keep it together, too.

He stopped me before I could get it around his arm and said, "I'm cool. Let her have what she needs."

I didn't bother to tell him that what she really needed right now was for Ranger to get here. I'd done all I could outside of a hospital to take care of her. What she needed now was the man that was currently making it safe to pull her out. The rest of us could keep her hanging on, but Ranger was the one that would ultimately save her. It sounded to me like he was finally ready to do it.

Maybe I'd get to use that funny breathing with her someday after all.

_A/N: I felt like I should warn you all that I won't be posting on Monday because of the holiday. So I'll be back with another Wolf chapter on Tuesday. Have a wonderful weekend, and for those of you celebrating Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, enjoy the holiday as well._


	10. Binkie

_Not mine, I'm just doing this for fun._

_Jenny (JenRar) – thank you for all you've done as the beta, error corrector, cheerleader, and plot consultant. This story is better because of you._

**Chapter 10 – Binkie – The Wolves at the Door**

Why do we squint when we are having trouble seeing something? Does making our eyes smaller somehow help them to focus more clearly? Despite the fact that the logic there doesn't make sense to me, I narrowed my eyes, trying to bring an object in focus. I'd seen some movement on the other side of a window in a non-descript two room storage shed that had an unobstructed view of the parking lot of the warehouse where Stephanie was being held. It would make an ideal hideout for someone wanting to see all the comings and goings for that building.

Zip touched my shoulder and squatted down by my side with a questioning expression. I nodded my head toward the building, and Zip stood, looked, and then squinted. Were we all losing our eyesight? Just before I grabbed his shirt to haul him back down out of sight, a sneer came over his face. He slowly lowered himself back to my side, and then hit the comm. link to be heard across the closed circuit. "Target in sight. Holding for directions."

I raised an eyebrow, questioning if Zip was sure. He seemed so confident, but the side view I had made it impossible to remove all doubt, even though my instincts were screaming that we were on top of the bastard that had hurt Stephanie, and despite having fired three times already today, my trigger finger was majorly itching to pull one more time.

Ranger's voice came across the unit, causing both of us to straighten our backs like an officer had just come on deck. "Keep him in your sights, even if by force, but you do _not_ kill him."

We looked at each other, and I could see the silent thought pass over Zip's face. We needed to hold each other to that command. Knowing we had the son of a bitch that had hurt our Bomber so close made it really tempting to go in there and give him a taste of his own medicine.

"I'll be to you in ninety seconds," Ranger spoke once more, the sound of him moving in the background. "Confirm you will keep your eyes on him, but not your bullets."

Zip looked at me, and I glanced over my shoulder through the window once more, confirming that Juarez was still there. I looked back at Zip and nodded. Only my respect for Ranger was holding me back. Well, if I were honest, respect and a little fear over pissing him off if I went against a direct order was keeping my hand off my gun at the moment.

Zip spoke for us both. "Target in sight. We will stand down unless forced."

The response that came was in our ears, not the receivers, as Ranger proved why his skills were so much more lethal than anyone could imagine. We never even heard him approach. He gave us both the slip to say, "You two will hold the parameter. No one goes in or out of the building except me."

He looked us both in the eye until we nodded that we understood. "Call the rest of the pack to secure the perimeter and do not move out until I give the word."

Again, we nodded, as though we were either mute, or too dumb to speak. Honestly, I'd served on missions with Ranger, so I was accustomed to his highly focused commanding presence, but this was like nothing I'd ever seen before. Hell, even if I didn't know what he was capable of, I'd be on edge. Ranger looked like death himself, ready to deliver that final blow.

I knew I needed to keep my eyes and ears open to be sure none of Juarez's men managed to sneak up on us, but I wanted to keep looking in the window to see the look of horror on the bastard's face. He didn't know it yet, but the number of breaths he had left to take were at their end.

After Hector and Junior arrived, Zip told them what was happening, and we each took a side of the building, with Hector at the door. I stayed where I'd been, which gave me the best view of what was happening inside. I stretched up just enough to look inside once more and definitely didn't need to squint this time. Ranger had entered the building silently and was standing directly behind Juarez, completely undetected. The man was like a smoke vapor, traveling wherever he wanted to be, leaving no clues of his existence.

I knew I was taking an unnecessary risk, but I couldn't help it, I reached up and put my fingers under the unlocked window, pushing it up slightly, allowing me to hear the sounds inside.

I knew Ranger had announced his presence when I heard the action on his Glock sliding back, before a voice as cold as I'd ever heard announced, "I warned you ten years ago to run and not look back, and this is how you repay me?"

"Manoso," Juarez said, pretending to be unaffected by the gun at the back of his head. "How nice of you to join me, and with an hour left to spare."

"You crossed a line I won't overlook," Ranger told him, making me wonder why they were even having a discussion. It was time to pull the trigger so we could get to saving Stephanie.

"And you elected not to follow my instructions." Juarez sounded disappointed, which only proved how far off his rocker this guy was. "You are wasting your time threatening me, when we both know you can't follow through on this threat. You were supposed to save your lady friend."

Ranger's voice came out through his teeth, bringing home the fact that he was furious beyond anything I'd ever seen in him. "Make no doubt over the fact that I'll save Stephanie, but I needed to make an example out of you first so that other people wouldn't think they could use her to get to me."

"Yet, clearly that is exactly all they need to do. I got the mighty Manoso to jump, just by taking an insignificant girl and dangling her in front of him," Juarez taunted stupidly.

I heard the blow as though it were right next to my head, so I risked Ranger's fury and looked inside once more. Juarez was on the floor, and Ranger had his knee digging into the man's back. He had traded out the gun he'd been holding for a knife that caught the little light in the shed and reflected it toward me.

"Where's the key?"

"I'm afraid I can't think very clearly like this," Juarez returned, struggling to speak at all.

What was Ranger talking about? No one had mentioned a key to us. Did we need to break up and search for something else? Dammit, I knew this had been too easy.

"Maybe you could think more clearly if you had fewer fingers to pretend to ball up into a fist," Ranger said, before the screams of Juarez drowned out whatever else he might have said.

After the noise calmed down, I looked once more and heard Ranger ask again, "Now, where is the key?"

"You don't think me foolish enough to have it on me, do you?" Juarez asked, his voice not as smooth or confident as it had been.

"You've proven yourself to be foolish, but no, I didn't expect it to be hanging around your neck." Ranger replied confusing me. "So whose life did you shorten by giving them the key."

"I can give you the name, but it will be useless, as you'll never find him," Juarez boasted, his voice growing softer from the lack of air with Ranger's knee still pressing hard into his back.

"You have underestimated me for the last time, Hernando," Ranger growled, before more screaming covered up anything else he might have said.

"Remember," Juarez panted out, "you did this to her."

Then, there was total silence, the kind that makes you think the world is about to be hit by a meteor and life as you know it is being wiped out of existence.

The calm before the storm was broken by the cold sound of Ranger chuckling. He wasn't one to laugh, and this sound definitely didn't ring of true humor. "What?" he asked, interrupting his chortle. "Did you honestly think I'd come after you before I protected what was mine? I learned what your brother did not. He never cared for his wife, but you did, didn't you?"

A whimper forced me to look once more, to see Ranger had Juarez by the hair and had jerked his head backward, still restricting his air with a knee in his back.

"I never laid a hand on Maria. I put her in the pit, and I let your brother believe she had told me everything I needed to know to expose his business, but I never touched her. The damage you discovered was all done by your brother as he beat her to her death."

"You!" Juarez found his balls once more. "You have no right to speak of her. Even if what you said was true, you are still just as guilty for letting him do it. You may as well have killed her yourself to have prevented her from suffering. You deserve to see the woman you protect suffer the same fate."

"Maria called out for you," Ranger taunted. "She told your brother that she never loved him, that the child she was carrying was yours and not his. She died wondering why you didn't save her." Ranger was practically roaring this information, forcing Juarez to hear it, even if he didn't want to listen.

"You never came for her, even though I gave you everything you needed to know to save her. You chose fear of your brother over the love of your woman. I should kill you for that failure alone," Ranger threatened.

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Juarez was breaking; his voice showed he'd already accepted his defeat.

"I understand that when people know they are dying, there is a form of brutal honestly that takes over. The confessions of a dying man are always more believable than those of one who is merely being threatened."

He was right. I'd seen the same thing when I'd been hunting information, too. Since my gun was often the last thing people saw, I heard those final breath confessions and knew they spoke their deepest truths as their last words in this world.

"You set up this whole thing to punish me for things that happened because you were too weak to stop your brother's evil."

Ranger was continuing to wear him down. I'd never seen someone as adept at torture with every possible weapon. He could continue to cut off fingers or randomly stab to weaken him, but apparently, Maria was Juarez's Achilles heel. Ranger would continue pounding his head and his memories instead of wasting his strength.

"You'll never save her. You should be with her, if you have a heart at all," Juarez replied weakly, as though he could turn the tables on the boss.

"I have a lifetime to spend with her, but when she sees me again, it will be as her savior. The man who did what had to be done and who didn't hesitate to think about his own safety when her life was on the line. That's something you'll never be able to say," Ranger pushed again.

"You can't be her savior. You need the key, and I don't have it," Juarez gloated with enough confidence, I began to worry.

I heard another scream and knew Ranger's knife had slipped once more. After the noises of agony died down, Ranger laid all the cards on the table. "I found your no good cousins. They squealed like pigs, more than willing to give you up. They died begging for their own lives and telling us to take yours instead. They didn't have the key. That only leaves one more person that could have it. Now that I have my man, I no longer need your services."

I was glad we'd done the work that gave Ranger the confidence he was using against Juarez.

"No, wait," Juarez cried out, getting my attention.

If we had to go hunting once more, I didn't want to miss any details.

"How do you know who to go after?" Juarez was desperate; his question was laced with the proof of that.

"Because you were stupid enough to drug Stephanie to get her out of her apartment. She fought you, and there was a hypodermic needle on the floor in her apartment. But when she described the people who tried to torture her for information on me, she only described three men – you and the two muscles I've already had eliminated. There is only one more person you have contact with in the States that you would trust enough to help you in kidnapping my woman. And he's not known around here as the Pharmacist for nothing," Ranger informed Juarez, briefing me at the same time.

"You'll never find him," Hernando boasted.

Once again, that eerie sound of humor escaped Ranger's mouth. "I've already got him. I'm handing him over to an associate a gift to one of my men. This is the second and last time this man has hurt someone dear to my family."

I had no idea what that meant, but figured the drug dealer on the streets we knew as the Pharmacist had hurt somebody else at RangeMan, at least indirectly, which meant he wasn't going to see the sunset either, based on Ranger's words.

"You'll regret this, Manoso," Juarez tried to threaten, but it sounded more like a plea to my ears.

"I only regret not doing this the first time we met. I thought seeing the woman you loved dead and disgraced would be enough, but apparently, you need the experience of seeing her face to face to answer her question of why you abandoned her when she screamed for you." The sound of Ranger's gun being pulled got my attention, and I knew Juarez was at the end of his life.

"Tell Maria what you did as a coward's response to her dying. Tell her how you refused to take the second chance offered to you, and instead, you proved you were every bit as evil as your brother. And then…"—Ranger's voice softened—"…you can join him in hell."

The sound of the gun shot made me jump, even though I knew it was coming. Juarez deserved what he got, and more. I had no emotional response to Ranger taking his life. But I'd always jumped at gunfire, unless I was the one pulling the trigger. That was a confession I'd never make and hoped no one ever noticed about me.

Who was I kidding... There were tons of confessions I'd never make. Some things were from the past and didn't need to be brought up, and others would never be spoken of, because I wasn't sure how people would react. I was a freaking exterminator – death in the package of a baby faced man called Binkie, for crying out loud. But I had fears just like everyone else dressed in black.

I was afraid that despite all we'd done, we'd still lose Stephanie. I was afraid that after everything that had happened today, Ranger might use it as an excuse to leave her forever, citing some foolish reasoning like he was only doing it to keep her safe. But mostly, I was afraid that after everything had been resolved, to whatever end this day brought, that I would go back to my room alone and have to go through another night of seeing the faces of the people I'd failed in my life. The ones I couldn't protect. The ones I was sure would haunt me until I went to my reward.

The only time I felt the ghosts of my past pull away was when I was around Cal. He had a way about him that I didn't understand, but felt drawn to. He had a tattoo branded on his forehead that basically warned people to stay the hell away from him, yet he loved being around the guys, hanging out and shooting the shit. He was one of the best hand-to-hand fighters I'd ever sparred against, yet when we were doing security for the governor at the fair last year, I'd caught him holding a rabbit at a petting zoo. He was looking at it so strangely, as though he wanted to hate it, but his hands had betrayed him by holding it so gently.

I knew he'd caught me staring at him over the last few months. At first, I was just trying to figure him out. What made him tick, what made him the bundle of contradictions, but then it became more than just a puzzle to solve. When I watched him, I felt different. He never asked me how I was, but he always seemed to know, and I found myself searching out ways to be near him. I felt lighter just from the closeness of our bodies, enough that I began to wonder what it would be like to be with him as more than just two co-workers.

But that, too, was on my list of confessions I'd never make. Short of him walking up to me and spelling it out—"Binkie, I've got a thing for you and I want us to be together"—I didn't see that happening.

I heard the door to the shed open, and Ranger walked out, wiping his hands on a once white handkerchief. He tossed it back inside and said, "I want this place burned to the ground with nothing left standing. I don't care if you have to shoot the fire department that attempts to put out the fire, I want nothing but rubble and unidentifiable ashes left when it's all over."

"Understood," Junior replied, his jaw set firm.

"Jefe," Hector called out. "You need help with the Pharmacist?"

"Negative," Ranger replied, reiterating his point with a shake of his head. "That job is Tank's alone." He looked over our heads to the parking lot of the warehouse. "They have some unfinished business."

I didn't understand what that meant, but I knew better than to question him.

"Burn it down, and then come to the warehouse," Ranger called out, leaving so quickly, it was almost like he'd vanished.

We didn't waste any time getting started, and due to the owner of the shack leaving it full of old gas and oil cans, we got a hot blaze going in no time. We stood guard and protected the fire we'd set until the roof collapsed and the walls began to crumble. There was no stopping this mini-inferno now, so we began to relax.

"What was Ranger talking about with Maria and Hernando? I thought Maria was married to his brother," Junior asked, voicing the same confusion I had.

Zip ran his hands through his hair and said, "Old mission. We were called in to put a stop to a human trafficking ring from Columbia after they took an ambassador's daughter. All the intel gave us Alberto as the mastermind. He used his wife to get the girls and forced her to do the work he couldn't do. Hernando wasn't implicated as an active partner, but from time to time, he would help them politically when coming in or out of the country. He never got his hands dirty enough to be fully implicated, but the guys pulling the strings thought he still needed to understand we could get to him if we wanted to. It was like there was some leverage Alberto had over his brother's head that he used to get whatever favor he needed when it was necessary. We were to take out Alberto, bring Maria back to the States for prosecution, and use that as a message for Hernando that we knew he wasn't clean and could come back for him at any time if he didn't walk the straight and narrow."

"What does that have to do with the traps in the warehouse?" Junior asked.

"Ranger needed Maria as bait, so we took her first, put her in a storage shed, and left a message for Alberto and Hernando similar to what Juarez left with the control room this morning. We set a couple of easy to identify traps so that Alberto would think he'd beaten the Americans at their own game and saved his woman. Unfortunately, we had no idea he'd blame her for getting caught, and instead of giving them a chance to say goodbye before we took Alberto out, he turned on his wife and began beating her. We were about to break it up and put an end to it, when Maria realized she wasn't going to escape from her husband, and she told him basically what Ranger had said – that she'd been in love with his brother and the only reason Hernando helped them was as a favor to her. Alberto snapped and killed her before we could get to them and save her. We'd rigged her with a metal lined vest and an electric circuit probably similar to what Juarez has on Stephanie, but ours was more high tech. In the end, we hit the button to give her a small charge to get Alberto off of her. It shouldn't have killed her, but it did. She was too weak between the pregnancy and her husband strangling her. She died on the spot. Ranger waited for Alberto to regain consciousness, and then killed him point blank."

"Shit," Junior said, taking in how screwed up that mission must have been.

"Yeah…" Zip agreed. "Ranger gave the command to fall out, and for the three days it took to get back stateside, he didn't say another word. Any dipshit that thinks Ranger is a heartless killer hasn't been with him after he's done a job no one else is man enough to do. Alberto needed to die, but it was crystal clear to the rest of us there that Ranger blamed himself for Maria's death. Our intel said they were a loving couple, so we had no idea he would turn on her like that. It was the last time Ranger went in blind without verifying intel on his own, prior to acting. He swore he'd never do the government's dirty work without confirming their reports again."

Zip's story took most of the burn time of the building, so when he was done, we felt it was ash enough to walk away. All the chemicals had made the fire burn hotter – and therefore faster – than usual, so our work here was done as far as we were concerned.

"Where to now?" Hector asked.

We looked between us, an unlikely group forged by Ranger for the sole purpose of hunting, knowing there was strength in numbers when you picked the right group members. This unlikely band was more than co-workers. Hell, they were more than my brothers; they were my pack. It took an experience like this one to remind me what was important.

Zip bumped my shoulder with his as we started walking down the hill to get to the warehouse parking lot once more. I punched his shoulder, just hard enough to make him rub it, but not enough to leave a bruise, and he smiled. This was why I couldn't be with a woman. It's not that I didn't enjoy being around them, but I needed the ability to show affection like this and not worry about being arrested for abuse. I was a hard man, despite my apparently cuddly exterior.

As much as I hated my nickname at RangeMan, it was still a big step up from the moniker Bunny, which was what my baby brother had called me with such frequency growing up that it had stuck with everyone else. I figured I'd know the love of my life when I found a man that could love someone called Bunny whenever he went home.

When we got to the parking lot, it seemed as though every guy from RangeMan was there, save one; Tank was nowhere to be found, which would have been odd, considering the fact that he'd been there to give us our orders a half hour ago, if we hadn't known he was exacting a little justice of his own.

We bumped fists and disbanded, realizing our work here was done and knowing it was easier to let go of what we'd done this day if we began acting normal as quickly as possible. I turned away from the guys just in time to see Cal walking out of the warehouse. He was holding his right hand close to his chest, and there was blood dripping down his arm, so I instinctively walked toward him, wondering what had happened and hoping there was someone I could punish for hurting him.

I shook my head, cursing the damn territorial impulse that forced that thought into my mind. I might be a part of the wolf pack, but I wasn't a dog, and I couldn't go around acting like one. Our eyes locked, and any thoughts of wildlife quickly left my brain. Something was pulling me to the man in front of me, and I was tired of fighting whatever it was.

He stopped walking when there was only a couple of feet between us. "Did you hear the conversation when I was in there with Stephanie?"

I shook my head no, wondering why he was asking such a strange question right now.

He rubbed his uninjured hand over his face, scrubbing his forehead as though he were frustrated and didn't know what to say now. In the process of him moving, I noticed the sleeve on his right arm was pushed up so I glanced at his shoulder, hoping he wasn't hurt there, too.

Strangely enough, I'd been in a high stress situation most of the day, and it barely registered. My training had taught me how to keep myself calm, despite the tension around me. But when I looked at Cal's shoulder and saw a small bunny on his skin, I swear I could hear my own heart beating. There's no way he knew what my family called me – no way.

"Hell," he said as he dropped his hand from his face. "Binkie, I just spent an hour coming face to face with losing a person I know I need in my life, and it forced me to look at the fact that she isn't the only person I can't live without. If you'll have me…I'd like to be yours."

I put my hand on his tattoo and traced it lightly. It was adorable and completely out of place on his hard body, except that it was just one more thing to add to my list of contrasts when it came to Cal. I knew he'd just taken a huge risk saying what he had to me and that I needed to say something in return, but my eyes couldn't let go of the image under my fingers.

"It's a bunny," he said, breaking the silence with distain dripping from his voice for the image I was focused on.

"My brother," I began, before stopping to clear my throat to make my voice strong enough that he wouldn't misunderstand me. "My baby brother called me Bunny for years when I was growing up. When I go home, it's what everyone in my family still calls me. Until I saw this, I hated the word, but on you…it's hot."

"You're…" He stopped, letting the question hang out there.

I guessed there were a million different possibilities for what he was asking, but I went with the most likely and immediate, given his confession.

"Yeah, I am," I assured him, realizing it probably answered most any question he might have intended, not the least of which was that I most certainly was gay.

He let out a long breath, proving how much of a risk he'd taken to just walk up to me and tell me he had a thing for me, not even knowing if there was a chance I could return his feelings. As far as he knew, I might be straight and he could be picking up his teeth right now.

I liked strength in a man. It was power and muscle that did it for me, not softness and lace. Cal was exactly what I wanted, but figured I could never have. Somehow, this day had the potential for being my worst nightmare combined with a dream come true.

Cal looked down at his shoulder where my hand was still covering the unexpected tattoo and smiled. "Bunny, huh?"

I could feel my face color and hated that I had no ability to cover it up or stop the blush. "There are some things I don't want the guys to know." I hoped he could understand why I wouldn't want that to get out.

Cal reached out to me and touched the back of my neck with his calloused hand. I swore I felt more heat from his skin against mine than what the destructive fire we'd set earlier had generated. I blinked when there was a snapping sound and realized he'd pulled the mic off my neck. It hadn't been on – our team had a special unit that didn't auto engage when we spoke – but I respected the hell out of him for wanting to protect the illusion of us having a private moment.

I returned the gesture, wrapping his neck unit around my hand, still feeling his warmth around the band when I pulled it away. It wasn't until I looked in his eyes and saw the uncertainty that I realized I'd never answered his question.

"Mine, huh?" I repeated his offer, trying to be sure the idiotic way I'd reacted, getting sidetracked by a damn tattoo, hadn't made him rethink his offer.

"If you'll have me," he replied, proving he was still willing to take a chance on me.

"Fuck, yeah," I finally answered, returning my hand to his neck and pulling him toward me.

Life was an uncertain mess on its best day, and the hell of today proved Cal was right. I needed what only he could bring to me, and I wasn't going to hide in fear and risk never knowing what we could be to each other. There might have been a whistle or someone telling us to get a room, but it was in a fuzzy part of my brain that wasn't online enough to care.

The moment my lips touched Cal's, I knew I was home.


	11. Tank

_Still using Janet's creation and not my own._

_Jenny (JenRar) thank you once again for all your work as the beta on this story, but especially for the polish required on this particular chapter. _

**Chapter 11 – Tank – A Taste of His Own Medicine**

Could this damn day get any worse? I've never minded being Ranger's second-in-command. God knows I respect the hell out of the boss, and I've known him personally long enough to know he has integrity to back up the persona, but today makes me want to follow him as my commander and whip his ass in equal measure.

From the moment Hal had told me to pick up the phone and connect to the call Woody was taking on the main line, I've felt as though my stomach was trying to relocate itself in my throat.

I don't mind battle, gunfire, men trying to get a jump on me, but standing around feeling useless isn't something I can tolerate. The rat bastard that thinks he can just steal the heart of our family and walk out unharmed has another thing coming.

I'd hated making the call, but because of both my position in the company and my years as his friend, I'd had to be the one to reach out to Ranger after hearing that Stephanie had been taken. His reaction was exactly what I'd expected – a perfect storm of anger and self-loathing that his inability to stay away from Stephanie had caused her to be taken. I'd let his comments like that go, knowing he needed to focus on how to fix the situation and I could help beat some sense into him later about the future with Ms. Plum.

But after Hal and Bones got us proof about who had taken Stephanie, I'd had to pick up the phone once more and hang a few more details on the worst case scenario he had running through his head. The reaction I'd gotten then wasn't at all what I expected. He'd bypassed pissed and gone into a fit of fury unlike anything I'd ever seen from him. I'd been worried that he was so emotional, it would affect his ability to function, so I'd told him that I was calling up the wolves and hopefully by the time he landed, Juarez would be dead and he could just stop by to check on Stephanie.

His response had been that if I allowed anyone to kill Hernando besides himself, he'd take out his revenge on me instead. "Somebody has to pay," he'd finally said in a much calmer voice. "I've got to make somebody pay for this."

I'd gotten it then. It was his worst nightmare come true, and it wouldn't be enough to land and find that the woman he hadn't manned up and claimed was all right; he needed to work off the emotions he'd been forced to feel for every second since I'd first called him. To look himself in the mirror, he had to do so with the knowledge that he, personally, had eliminated the threat to the most important person in his world.

I'd had to watch as Hector came out, as locked down as I'd ever seen him, and then I'd had to try to get information out of him. I could tell he was trying – hell, he was speaking in English, which I didn't even know he could do – to make it easier on us all. But every time I'd spoken to someone, I'd recognized that same look in their eyes. That combination of desperation to do something that was helpful overlaced with fear that despite all we were doing, we still might fail her. Every man in this damn parking lot was fully aware of what time it was and could tell you to the second how much time we had left in this damn four hour window.

I'd had a false sense of security when Cal went in and Manny came out, figuring if all she needed was entertainment, that between Cal and Lester, she should be set up to wait out the rest of the time.

But when Cal had basically pleaded for Bobby, I'd known something had to be wrong. Needing to give her a pint straight from Zero had rammed my gut with fear anew at the thought that we could lose her before our small window of time was over.

When Ranger had called to say he was in Trenton, I'd asked if he was coming to see her, and he'd quickly told me no. I'd tried to hide my surprise at his answer, figuring he'd want to sweep in and make her feel better, but I understood his reasoning when he'd explained, "I have to get a few things to get her out of there safely, and I have to take out Juarez first. I can't look her in the eye and tell her everything is going to be all right as long as he's still drawing air."

I understood it as a soldier and as a man. Once he went in that hell hole, he wasn't coming out without his woman, and he couldn't bring Stephanie out until he'd made it safe for her again.

But when he'd called me ten minutes ago and said, "I have a job for you if you want it, but you're under no obligation," I hadn't known what to think. It wasn't like I would ever say no to something he needed.

"_I'm in," I replied, trusting that he wouldn't ask me if he didn't my help._

"_It's…personal, and I'll understand if you want to back out," he added, really confusing me._

"_Just lay it out there, man," I said, cutting him off, needing to hear the details._

"_The Pharmacist," he stated simply. "He has to die, but not before he gives up the key to the vest on Stephanie. I can get her out of the hole, but I can't get her out of that vest in time without the key."_

That was a name I never wanted to hear again. The Pharmacist was a street name of a specialty drug dealer off Stark. He didn't mess with the common drugs, allowing the gangs and low life dealers to handle that. He specialized in blending drugs to produce specific cocktails designed to do whatever his client needed. He was a chemist gone crazy, and in my opinion, the world would be better off without him, but I'd been told previously that the DEA wanted him left alive because he was easy to follow for suppliers and they had gotten a lot of big fish out of the sea by using him as unintentional bait.

As long as I'd known about him, I'd wanted him off the streets. I couldn't see any good that could come out of him breathing the same air as me. But after I met Lula through Stephanie and we started dating, my opinion changed drastically. Jail was no longer good enough for him; I wanted him to die – slowly.

When Ramirez took Lula and attacked her, he did it by shooting her up with a sedative designed by the Pharmacist. It was his cocktail that immobilized her, but kept her awake through most of what that sick fuck did to her before stringing her up outside Stephanie's apartment.

Lula and I might not be together right now, but I was just waiting her out. We'd had something special for a while, and then she'd gotten spooked, like it was too good to be true, and she'd sabotaged it on purpose. I understood the feeling; she had a lot of shit in her past that would make it hard to accept something good and stable in her life. But I knew if I stayed around – maybe in the background, but definitely around – she'd eventually sort though her past and begin to want better things for herself.

I knew Stephanie had helped her move from her days on the street. The friendship between those two might seem strange to an outsider, but I could see it. Lula was a breath of fresh air to Stephanie, somebody that didn't need the approval of her old neighborhood to be happy. And Stephanie was proof to Lula that she deserved to be happy. If a normal white girl from a conservative neighborhood wanted to be her friend and stuck with her through all she'd been through, there must be something in there worth being around.

I'd started dropping by the bonds office again by myself, doing an afternoon check for any files when I knew Lula was more likely to be around. I knew that the whole near death experience was the shock that Lula had needed to change her life around, but I also knew her heart, and it was only a matter of time before she'd have made those changes herself. I had every plan on making her mine once more, and this time, I wasn't going to let her push me away if she got scared again. This time, I was done waiting, I was ready to claim the woman I knew could make me happy.

But much like the boss was feeling now, I needed to do something first. I had to avenge the wrong that had been done to her in order to look her in the eye and promise her that what she'd survived before would never happen to her again. I needed the Pharmacist off the streets to have that sense of honor with my woman.

Ranger had intel that proved the Pharmacist was the one that had doped Stephanie, and apparently, he had the key that kept her life in danger. Ranger could have gotten to him and taken him out himself, but he understood the burn I'd been trying to hold back for three years now, and he was giving me a gift with this chance to exact the revenge I'd wanted all this time. He was thanking me for watching over Stephanie as he traveled back to save her, and he was honoring the blood of our brotherhood, even if our mothers were not the same.

"You got an address?" I'd asked, trying to keep my voice calm enough that no one else picked up an interest in the conversation.

Ranger had told me he'd set up a fake deal and the Pharmacist was currently brewing a specialty date rape drug for a large payment. He'd given me the address of where he'd been told to pick up the package and had told me I could do whatever I wanted, but I had to get that key, and I had to bring it back as quickly as possible, or we'd end up losing Stephanie, regardless of everything else we'd done right this day.

The address was less than a mile away, so I knew it was doable within the constraint of time. I'd geared up, called Manny over to main the control center, and left commanding him to focus on the warehouse and forget about me entirely.

I flew to the address he'd given me and realized for a drug lab, the abandoned store front was a good cover. I scoped it out quickly and only saw one outside guy, who I took care of with my hands and a little twist of the neck. I couldn't have him alerting anyone inside that I was here. After that was done, I lifted his keys and let myself in, moving as silently as possible. Most people looked at me and assumed I was a just a big goof, incapable of traveling with stealth. How little they knew.

I took out the remaining two guards inside, stealing the gun off of one, figuring it would be useful, leaving just me and the Pharmacist to deal with his date with the devil. I walked in and instantly shot both his thighs with his guard's gun. There was no way he was going to walk out of here, so I didn't see the reason to leave him the use of his legs.

He hit the floor, crying like baby. I guess he hid in his lab because he didn't have the guts to fight like a man without cowering behind his concoctions and test tubes.

I got right up on top of him and saw a chain around his neck. I reached down and grabbed it, pulling it off and smiling when I saw there was a key on the end of it. _Gotcha, you son of a bitch._ I looked up on the table, where he'd been working, and saw four syringes lined up, picking one up randomly and removing the cap with my teeth.

"No," he stammered, obviously knowing what I was going to do.

"What, you don't want a taste of your own medicine?" I smiled at my pun and put it in his upper thigh, not too far from the bullet hole.

I grabbed the next needle and repeated the act, but this time, I stuck it in his hip.

"You don't have to do this!" He was sweating like a pig in July. I didn't know what was in these syringes, but he sure did, and he definitely didn't want it in his body.

"The way I see it," I said, picking up the biggest of them all and watching his eyes grow wider and dilate, "is you realized your life wasn't worth a shit, and you decided to take your own life, brewing a cocktail of drugs that would make it painless and quick. But when it didn't work, you turned on yourself and used your own gun to take your life."

"I would never do this," he said, as though that would matter to me.

"Any man would do something like that with the right motivation. I've seen men greater than you take the easy way out when it came to themselves," I said, remembering the last moment I'd spent with Abruzzi. I'd meant it to be a welcome to RangeMan gift for Stephanie, but I'd realized she probably couldn't handle the idea of us killing somebody for her, so I'd restaged it to look like a suicide and to keep the cops off our trail. I knew she'd always thought it was Ranger looking out for her, but in reality, that one was all me. I knew he would have done it himself if he'd had the chance. I just felt like reminding him why we considered ourselves family, even if we didn't use that word specifically.

"You have what you came for. Take the key and go," he pleaded as his breathing cranked up a notch. Whatever I'd given him was definitely having an effect.

"No...the key was my secondary target. I was sent here to take you out, and I'm not leaving until I get what I came for," I told him with a full fledged smile. It was always nice when your work could be so rewarding.

I plunged the needle in his chest and depressed the plunger. His eyes got even bigger, and he tried to argue with me, but he seemed to be struggling to keep his thoughts together. Despite his panic, he was beginning to struggle with consciousness. I knew I didn't have unlimited time, so wrapped his limp hand around the gun and raised it to his head, pulling the trigger and ending his life. I dropped the needles on his torso, trying to give the appearance that he'd done this to himself, and then dragged the guard I'd taken the gun from into the lab. There wasn't a logical explanation for all the injuries on the Pharmacist, but an extra body could account for the two shots in his legs. It wasn't a great set up, but since there was no denying his place in the community, I figured enough people would be glad to see him gone that the police wouldn't waste much time looking for the real killer.

The whole trip over here and my work inside had taken eleven minutes. I ran back out to my Explorer and floored it to get back to the warehouse. I gripped the key tightly, knowing this was the missing piece that Ranger had to have in order to save Stephanie. There was no way I was going to fail her after coming so close.

Ranger was beside my door before I even got it open. "You get it?" I knew he was nervous, despite how steady his exterior might appear. The fact that he was using words instead of just holding out his hand to take what he knew good and well I had if I was here spoke volumes.

I put it in his hand and said, "The Pharmacist has apparently seen the error of his ways and realized all the drugs he's put on the street was a crime against humanity and the only way to make it right was to take his own life…violently."

"Like Abruzzi?" Ranger said, verbally tipping his hat in my direction.

_What can I say, I love a good western._

"Go get the girl," I told him, still refusing to answer his question, but knowing the slight smile on my face gave him all he needed to know to shut the book on that piece of history once and for all.

Ranger took off at a full run toward the warehouse, and I yelled after him, "Remember to approach on your belly."

He stopped running and turned around long enough to smirk at me. Yeah, yeah, he's Batman and can get where he needs to without setting off silent alarms and rigged traps. Still, the look on his face told me he was ready to go get her free, so it was all over but the waiting.

I hate waiting.

I've seen Ranger evade even the most impossible circumstances and come out on top. This one might seem horrible, but in the big scale, with all the back up and support out here, he's definitely beaten worse odds. That still didn't help to move my stomach back to its rightful place when I realized I could do no more to help, and that if Ranger rushed and did one thing out of sequence, we might lose them both. Fuck that... Brown, Santos, and Zero were all in there, too.

With every mission he left on, I knew there was a possibility he might not return and that RangeMan would be mine to run in his absence. But I also knew that with Brown and Santos with me, we could do it. It wouldn't be the same as it was with Ranger, but for him, we would band together and do it. If I lost them all, I wasn't so sure. It's not that I wouldn't know what to do, but I wasn't sure if I'd even want to bother. In that building was my family. I hadn't grown up in the back country with them, but I'd become a man with them by my side, and that was growing up enough to count for what birth didn't give me.

I glanced at my watch and saw we were down to the final ten minutes. I didn't doubt Ranger's skill, but I hated this last minute shit.

I couldn't take it anymore. There was nothing for me to do in the warehouse, and I knew my big frame in a limited space operation wasn't exactly an asset, but I couldn't stand still any long.

Giving up the fight, I reached down to my hip and pulled my cell phone up, pressing the contact I'd been holding myself back from for far too long.

It rang twice, before her sassy voice said, "Hello."

"Lula?" I began, kicking myself for not sounding more confident. Who the hell else did I think had answered her cell phone?

"Tank?" She sounded completely confused.

"Yeah, it's me." Smooth, man. Real smooth. I ran my hand over my shaved head, and then mentally swore that I was acting like some kind of freaking school girl at her first dance.

"What's wrong?" Lula asked, giving me a stepping off point that I didn't realize I needed.

"Something's happened today – something bad. I think it's all going to work out, but it made me realize some things." It sounded like I was talking in some kind of code.

"What's going on with my girl?" Lula guessed right on the money. People might look at her past and judge her, but from where I was standing, that experience on the street made her a damn fine reader of people.

"I can't tell you just now, but it's been a hell of a day," I admitted, hoping she wouldn't get locked on my refusal to answer her question.

"A hell of a day," she jumped in, "It's only two o'clock. The day ain't near over yet."

"It's not two yet," I corrected her, refusing to allow anyone to take away the precious minutes Ranger had to get Stephanie out of that building and back to where we were all waiting. "We've still got nine minutes before that."

"Okay, Tankie..." She softened her voice, using the name I used to love hearing on her lips. "You said this bad day helped you realize something. That why you called me?"

"Yeah, baby." I smiled when I used the pet name for her. "That's why I called you."

"Well, then, let me sit down this here work so I can listen better." I smiled when I heard her talking away from the phone, saying, "Here, Connie, take this shit. I got my Tankie on the phone, and he needs to talk to me, so you gonna have to hold on for a little bit. This here is important."

I was important. Hearing her say that tightened my chest. I was described as a lot of things: big, overbearing, silent, a goon – none of them all that complimentary. But to Lula, I was important, and that made me want to cut to the shit and tell her why I called.

"All right." She came back to the phone, slightly breathless. "Lay it on me."

Tempting as that was, I knew I needed to stick to words here and not take her command in its most literal sense. "I miss you. I want you in my life in a big way."

"That was worth sitting down for," she said, and I could practically hear the smile on her face through the phone. "You want something serious?"

"With you, I do," I confirmed.

"You gonna talk this time?" she pushed.

"As much as I can, but you may need to help push me a little if I start clamming up," I warned, trying to be honest.

"What about the cats?" She laid down what had been the final straw she'd used when we split the last time.

"I'm not getting rid of them, but I can contain them in part of the house and try to do a better job of cleaning around them to make it easier on you," I offered.

"I'm just shitting you. I got me some allergy medicine at the clinic, and the doctor said it should get rid of most of the sneezing and stuff I was doing, and if that didn't work, I could get some shots that might help," she conceded, making me smile again. If she'd done that then she had been thinking about me, too. This wasn't all on me any more.

"That's real good," I replied, knowing it didn't do justice to how I was feeling.

"So…" She picked up exactly where I needed her to. "My apartment is clean, and it sounds like you've had a hell of day. How about you come over to my place, and we can talk about how this might work. I mean, I'm a career woman, and I need to be sure you can support me in all my goals. I don't want to be held back by no man, all right?"

I couldn't stop the smile from coming over my face if my life depended on it. "That sounds exactly like what I need," I told her, before thinking about it and adding, "And just so you know, baby, I'm not holding you back from a thing. I want to be there beside you for all your dreams to come true."

"Tankie, I'm glad you called me," she said, stating the same thing I was thinking. "And you just keep in mind that you can pick up that phone anytime you need to hear a friendly voice. I want to be beside you, too."

There was a brief minute of silence, before I realized I needed to get off the phone before I said something stupid. "I'll see you tonight at your place, baby."

"I'll have dinner ready," she promised, and then hung up.

It was the best news I'd had all day.

I saw Ram take off at a dead run from the corner or my eye, and my mind snapped back to the present, reminding me that while I was fighting for a chance at love with the woman I knew was meant for me, my best friend was in there fighting for a chance at life with his. I needed to get my head in the game.

I glanced at my watch and saw our window was down to just two minutes. I knew from experience that a hundred and twenty seconds could be an eternity. I certainly couldn't hold my breath that long, and I knew that it was a lot longer than it took me to draw my gun, check the load, and empty ten rounds into a man ten yards away.

But suddenly, a hundred and twenty seconds felt as though it could pass with the blink of an eye, and I found myself afraid of blinking, for fear that it would speed the hands on my watch and I'd miss something that could change my life forever.

I couldn't stand still any longer. My size fifteen boots started moving, one in front of the other, and I found myself going toward the building that had the potential to rip our lives from us all.

Just as I turned the corner, I heard voices yelling that I recognized. Ram screamed out, "Move, move, move!"

I stayed planted firmly where I had been, not running away, but halting my forward progress at the same time.

There was a single gun shot and a horrendous crashing sound that I couldn't identify, before billows of smoke began to come out from the door.

I stepped back, knowing I wouldn't be able to help anyone if I was coughing from inhaling the haze in the air. I could hear feet moving faster than a standard walk, but still moving slower than it sounded like Ram had told them to go. What in the hell was taking so long? Did I need to call the men to fall back, or should we rush the building to get our guys out of there?

I was frozen to the ground, unable to offer my assistance and unwilling to desert the people that might need me. I had no choice but to hear the seconds tick by in my ears and wait.

I hate waiting.


	12. Ranger

_The characters below are all from the genius of JE. The mess they're in is entirely my fault._

_Jenny (JenRar) you have been an amazing beta and guide on this story. Thank you for your hard work and encouragement along the way._

**Chapter 12 – Ranger – Taking Back What's Mine**

How many years has the big lug known me that he thought he needed to remind me to enter on my belly? I specialized in the details and keeping that kind of shit in the front of my mind is what kept me breathing on some missions. Still, this whole fucked up situation was so far beyond what I'd ever experienced on a mission that he was probably right to say something. And anytime Stephanie was involved, my rule book tended to go out the window.

I gripped the key tighter, knowing I couldn't get her out alive without it, and dropped to my stomach to begin the familiar movement of covering the distance flat on my abs. I could hear Bobby talking to her, telling her she needed to stay awake for him, and Zero and Lester joking and laughing with strained voices, obviously acting more light hearted than they really felt. I thought I also heard Manny's voice mixed in somehow. I wasn't sure how he'd gotten in; I thought Tank had left him in charge while he was going after the Pharmacist. I guess when Tank arrived Manny hightailed it back in here. I didn't really blame him.

Manny was encouraging his wife to keep her eyes open. I had to take a deep breath and stop moving to remember the reference to them being married was from when Stephanie was saving my life, not a real marriage that I needed to worry about. With all the people in there, it sounded more like a party than a rescue mission.

I came around the corner and felt every eye land on me as Lester exclaimed, "Thank God you're here."

"Awe, man, don't get all mushy on me, I haven't been gone that long," I told him, hoping he'd pick up on the hint that I wanted to keep her distracted while my eyes roamed the warehouse, taking in everything that could be a threat and avoiding looking at Stephanie until I absolutely had to.

Juarez had done an impressive job of trying to duplicate the trap I'd set for his brother in Columbia years ago. Some of his systems were more simplistic, but he didn't have the same background I did to hide them very well.

I had stalled long enough and knew I needed to look into the pit that the guys were surrounding. Manny and Lester were holding ropes that were supporting Stephanie in some way. Bobby was pulling a needle out of Zero's arm, which I could see had been directly connected to Stephanie. He also wasn't wearing gloves. That might not seem like a big deal, but Bobby was a damn good medic, diligent in every way to prevent infection. Obviously, this was serious if Bobby was more concerned about getting her help than he was about universal precautions or potential germ contamination.

I'd put it off for far too long and let my eyes fall on the woman I'd loved for years. To my eye, there was a beauty in her that rose above her condition, but there was no denying the truth that she'd been worked over, and as harsh as it sounded, she looked like shit. A new wave of fury flew through me, and I had to work harder than I ever had to control it so I could trust my voice when I spoke.

I had to get her out of here in one piece, and then I'd let my mind go wherever it needed to, but until then, I had to stay in control. A quick glance at my men told me they were struggling with the same pull – the need to avenge her for the hell she was in and the need to protect and care for her as an innocent who didn't deserve any of this.

"Babe," I said only her name, hoping she could read into it how sorry I was that she was in that hole.

Her eyes, which had been closed and causing Bobby such stress, began to move, and one popped open while the other remained mostly shut from the swelling on that side of her face.

"You can't be here," she announced, obviously agitated. It didn't take a heart surgeon to know that kind of stress on top of her injuries wasn't good for her, so I moved in closer so I could touch her.

"Where else would I be when you need me?" I asked, putting my hand on her cheek. I brushed my thumb over the skin with lines formed by tears pushing through the dirt and grime her captors had allowed to cake on.

New tears fell, and I took it as a good sign if she were able to make the signs of hydration since Bobby had a bag of what I assumed was saline to keep her going. "But he said…" Despite her attempt to be strong, her body wasn't used to this kind of long term stress and keeping her mind and mouth working together was proving to be difficult. "He said your life or mine, and you can't die for me…you have to go."

I smiled, looking her straight in the eye to be sure she was listening to me. "I'm not dying, and neither are you. I didn't come here until I eliminated _every_ possible threat to us from this day. Once we get you out of this hole, you're safe, and so am I."

"But…" she attempted to argue once more, but was too weak to put up much more than that.

"Proud of you, Babe," I threw out the phrase I found myself saying every time she amazed me. It wasn't nearly strong enough, but I hoped she'd figure out what I meant. "You protected me and took a pain that should never have been yours, simply to keep me safe."

"I'd never betray you, Ranger," she said, obviously finding a pool of strength to reassure me once more of her loyalty.

"I never doubted that as true," I promised, realizing how few people in the world I could say that about. "Are you ready to get out here?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

"Can I?" she asked with a crack in her voice. I knew she wanted to leave, but I also knew the threats Juarez had made to her while inflicting pain had been literally beaten in as true and she was struggling to accept that it was possible she might live to get out of here. Someone had broken her enough to take away her hope, and I wished Juarez were still alive so I could kill him once more, but draw it out longer this time to make him suffer more for what he'd done.

"Of course you can," I promised. "There are a few things I need to do to make it safe, and then we're doing to pull you right up out of that hole and get you outside, where your family is waiting."

"Why are my parents here?" she asked, picking up on everything I'd said.

"Your parents haven't even been notified, but RangeMan is here," I explained.

Lester interrupted, "We're your family, Beautiful."

Manny added, "That's right. We're the ones that have your back no matter what."

Bobby saw I was checking out her pit and kept her distracted by saying, "And we're the ones that love you unconditionally, because you taught us how. You're stuck with us now."

In order to get my arm down to feel for the trap based on the level of the water gel explosive she was standing in, I had to move closer, putting my face very close to hers. It was only because of the proximity that I heard her reply, "I can't wait for the family reunion. For the first time ever, I won't be repulsed by the idea of kissing cousins."

I couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up at her acceptance of what the guys had said and what was most likely an internal thought that she hadn't intended to say for everyone to hear. I loved those glimpses into her mind and always felt like the hidden thoughts taught me more about her than anything else.

I finally got my fingers around the lip of a pipe that I knew was the feeder tube for the required agent to set off the explosion Juarez had intended to kill Stephanie and me at the same time. I had no way of knowing how much he'd planted. It wouldn't take much to set off the explosion, but I had to assume he'd planned for us to use a container to capture the agent, so he probably had enough in reserve to fill any decent sized bucket or bowl and overflow, still causing the explosion he wanted.

I estimated the pipe to be three inches in diameter and brought my hand out, looking between Bobby and Manny to ask, "What do you have that I can use to block a three inch pipe?" Then I added, "And what kind of overflow container do you have to catch anything that comes past the blockage?"

Bobby produced packages of gauze, which I began shoving down in the hole and into the pipe. They would only delay the progress of the agent as they absorbed the liquid until they became too saturated to take on any more. Manny had moldable tin – similar to aluminum foil, but much sturdier. I made a pipe cap out of the tin, grabbing a heavy duty rubber band to secure it around the edge of the pipe. That would probably buy us a few seconds. Bobby then came up with a tray like they used in hospitals for patients whose stomachs were unsettled that he'd put some kind of straps on to hang over the small lip. That would potentially add a few more seconds to the overall time to escape before the explosion hit, so I hung it up, taking some moldable clay from Manny as an adhesive agent.

"Boss, we're down to four minutes, if our master time is synchronized to the countdown here," Manny said, basically reminding me we didn't have all day to make this happen.

I nodded that I'd heard him, and then pulled my hand out, knowing we'd done everything we could here. "All right, it's time to get you out of this hole," I told Stephanie, wanting to warn her that she was about to be moved, since I knew she was going to hurt when we started jostling her.

"I made a board with wheels that we can use to roll her on," Manny suggested.

"Crawling will be too slow," I decided aloud. "We'll put her on the board, and then we'll each take a corner and carry her out."

"What about the traps?" Zero asked.

"Collateral damage for the greater good," I replied, gladly willing to take a bullet for Stephanie if it meant saving her life. Hell, it wouldn't be the first time I'd been shot for her.

Then I realized it wasn't fair to ask the same thing of all my men, so I said, "But if you don't want to risk it, feel free to crawl out now while I'm getting her settled. No reason to put your neck somewhere it doesn't have to be." I wasn't really surprised when the men just looked at me, refusing to abandon her to save themselves.

"Ram, I need you in here," I said to my comm. unit, feeling like our explosives expert should check out what we'd done.

As soon as he appeared, I told him to double check our cap, and he shrugged. "It's the best we can do. I say we go for it."

Manny pushed the board forward with the hand not wrapped in rope and sat it so that she could be pulled straight out and onto it with the makeshift harness they'd been holding her with.

I looked him and Lester in the eye, and then nodded, giving them a signal to get her out.

"Hang on, Babe," I told her when her eye snapped tightly shut, no doubt registering the pain of being moved again. "We'll do this as fast as we can, but we've got a short window to get out with."

"Just do it," she said, sounding resigned to whatever else she had to endure now.

It took them only a few seconds to get her on the board.

"What the hell is that?" Ram asked, pointing to the cable attached to the bottom of her metal vest and running back into the pit.

I didn't bother explaining, already aware that it would be there. Instead, I moved to her side, used the key I'd been holding, and unlocked the padlock between her legs. Juarez had soldered metal rings to the bottom of the vest between her legs and run the lock through them to secure her inside the electrical circuit. The lock had then been wired to the vest so that any attempt to cut it off would result in activating the plate to generate electricity. Without the key the person wearing the vest couldn't get out of it alive.

Looking over my shoulder at Bobby, I said, "Help me get this off."

Bobby and Zero pulled the vest so that it separated, and Manny pulled the cart she was laying on so that the vest could slip away from her. I noticed it scratching her as they pulled it, but knew that was a small price to pay to have it off of her.

Once it was done, they set the vest down, and I saw it was still connected to her via a wire running to a device in her hand. The suicide control had been strapped to her so she couldn't forget about that out to escape what she had been through. I'd seen many soldiers take such an out and was proud of her once more for fighting through it and refusing to give Juarez the easy victory by pushing that button. My woman was a fighter, and this was just one more piece of evidence to support that truth.

I cut the wire with some pliers Manny handed me, knowing it didn't matter if the vest engaged at this point. It couldn't hurt her anymore.

"We're under two minutes," Zero announced.

No sooner had the words come out of his mind then we heard a loud click, as though a timer had just engaged.

Ram shouted, "Move, move, move!"

Bobby had a hand on Stephanie, keeping her secure and monitoring her for any signs of crashing. We had to get her out, but we also knew in her condition, any change could be the final straw that caused her body to shut down. Lester and I stood at the head of Steph's gurney, with Manny and Zero at the foot, and we began to walk out as quickly as we could.

Steph was making heartbreaking sounds with each step. It was obvious she was trying to hold them back, but the agony was too great to be denied. Seeing the damage visible to the naked eye, I was honestly surprised she was even conscious, so I couldn't blame her for the indications of suffering. I do think it kept us from running, when it might have been wise.

We'd gone only four steps when we tripped a sensor and a gun went off. I was prepared to compensate in supporting Stephanie if I had to, but no one indicated they were hit.

A second later, there was another click, and smoke began to plume from the second floor. I wasn't sure if it was tear gas or evidence of a fire, so I commanded, "Suck in a breath and double time it out."

Our speed picked up as we moved through the haze to the exit, still mindful of the shock to our cargo.

As soon as we cleared the building, I saw Tank standing there, practically frozen to the ground. I nodded to him, trying to let him know that she was alive, and once again, he'd done it; he'd looked out for her when I was unable to.

That was all it took for Tank to run ahead, shouting out the necessary orders to mobilize our company and bug out to a safe distance. The fire department and TPD were called, alerting them to a possible bomb situation and a rescued kidnap victim who was being transported for immediate medical attention.

Hector pulled up with the large Navigator and jumped out to open the back with the seats folded down so we could slide Stephanie straight in. Bobby and I each jumped in on opposite sides, before Hector shut the door to make the trip to St. Francis.

I was aware of someone else getting in the front passenger seat, but I couldn't take my eyes off of Stephanie.

I pushed her hair away from her face and asked, "What did they do you, Babe?"

Her eye began to flutter, before they closed with a groan, and then she was still.

"Bobby?" I asked in a panic. I couldn't lose her now. Not after all I'd been through to get to her, and especially not after everything I'd realized on the flight here from my mission.

One of his hands was holding a stethoscope to her chest, and the other jumped to her neck. He nodded, but I didn't relax until he said, "It's shallow, but she's still breathing. She's in shock. I can't do anything else for her right now, other than be ready in case she shuts down completely. We're going to need a team of surgeons at the ready to pull her through. Nearly everything on her needs some form of attention."

"Don't leave her side," I commanded him, knowing the hospital staff wouldn't allow me back to the operating room. They had made exceptions for Bobby in the past, and whether they knew it or not, today was going to be an exception.

"No way in hell they're taking her somewhere without RangeMan being there," he confirmed.

I couldn't stop touching her, knowing we'd be separated the moment we got her to the ER and needing to reassure myself that she was okay now. I put my index finger knuckle against my lips to keep myself from talking and saying something I'd regret. But when she made another low sound of pain and her eye began to flutter open again, I realized my foolish pride could go to hell. I couldn't miss what could be my last chance to tell her how I felt.

"Babe." I spoke only her name, but it felt as though I'd said so much more.

"I'm sorry," she apologized on an exhale.

"No," I said firmly, stopping her. "I'm the one that should be begging for your forgiveness here, not the other way around."

"Please don't leave me," she begged, sounding so small and frail.

"I'm taking you to the hospital, and while the doctors are working to patch you up, Bobby will be there. The second they're done, I'll be back by your side," I promised.

Her lips turned up slightly, as though trying to smile and not quite managing it. "But after that, don't go."

I wasn't sure what she meant, feeling as though I'd already promised I'd be by her side, and then I knew it was time to man up and forget about the guys in the truck. It was truth time, and I wasn't going to let her go into the ER still fighting for her life without laying out what would be waiting for her when she got out.

I took one of her hands in mine and squeezed it. She returned the gesture gently, so I knew she was listening. I leaned down closer so I could speak softly, and then opened my heart to her.

"Stephanie, I'm not going anywhere – ever. When I first got the call from Tank that you'd been taken, I was furious and realized this was my worst fear come true. I kept telling myself that if I'd stayed away from you like I knew I should have, then you wouldn't have been targeted and you wouldn't be suffering. I had a brief moment of stupidity when I told myself I'd get you out, and then leave Trenton for good so this could never happen again. But that didn't last long, because the thought of never seeing you again took me to my knees."

Literally, I'd collapsed on the floor of the plane, unable to make my legs support me. I knew that cutting her from my life would be the end of me. Plus, as my rational mind came back on board, I realized in Trenton, Stephanie and I were not officially a couple and someone still got to her. So I'd figured the only real way to keep her safe wasn't to push her away, but to pull her closer. There was no way in hell she'd have been taken if she'd been sleeping in my bed, by my side, where she should have been.

"While I was down there, I prayed words I'd never used for my own safety, but they flowed from me when it was your life on the line. And I knew that once I got you back and you were out from under the threat of harm, I'd never be able to push you away. In the brief second I thought about leaving, I knew I'd never be able to do it. I can't have a life without you in it. So, when you come out of surgery and open your eyes, focusing on the ceiling or the walls of your recovery room, you need to be prepared to see me. And then every time you open your eyes for the rest of your life, you need to be prepared for me to be there, too, because it's going to be a long time before I'm going to be able to give you any space to be away from me."

That partial smile came over her face once more, and her shoulders lowered. I hadn't even noticed how high they had been, but something I'd said allowed her to relax, and knowing I'd comforted her just with words alone made me want to keep talking.

"I need you to relax and let the doctors do whatever they need to so that you can come back to me. We've got a lot to talk about, and the sooner we start, the better."

"What..." she began, before stopping to swallow. "What do we need to talk about?"

"Our future," I replied, as though it were a foregone conclusion.

This time, her lips managed a full smile, even showing her teeth a little. "What about our future?"

"Where you want to live, when you'd like to get married, how big of a ring you'd like, what kind of car you want to drive, where you want to vacation... All kinds of big decisions need to be made, Babe, and I need your help to make them," I told her, knowing I sounded like a fool, but for the first time in my life, not caring.

Her eyes fluttered open, and her head turned away from me toward Bobby. I tried not to tighten my grip on her hand at that action, flooded with fear that she was rejecting the future I'd just revealed to her. I had thought through every possible outcome except that she might not want to be with me. Of course, after all she'd been put through because of my past, I couldn't really blame her.

"Drugs…did you give me any drugs?" she asked him seriously.

Bobby shook his head. "No, Bomber, like I said, I can't give you anything until we get you stable at the hospital. I'm sorry."

She shook her head slightly, stopping him and turned back to me. "Needed to be sure I wasn't dreaming," she explained.

I touched her face with my free hand and assured her. "No hallucinations, I promise."

"You may have to tell me again…later," she said, her forehead wrinkling as we flew over a bump in the road.

"I'll tell you as often as you want to hear it for as long as you need to hear it," I volunteered.

Before anything else could be said, the truck stopped and the back door opened. A team of medical personnel stood at the ready, proving Tank had called ahead and briefed them on the incoming trauma.

They started pulling her board out, when she gripped my hand tighter, so I held up my palm to stop them.

"What is it, Babe?" I asked, not wanting there to be anything left unsaid between us before we were separated again.

"…love…you," she whispered, a tear running from the corner of her eye into her hair.

I bent over quickly and kissed her, privacy be damned. I pulled back just enough for my lips to move and said, "I love you, too."

She nodded, which I assumed meant she was ready to roll, and I helped Bobby to lift her board and put it on the waiting gurney, wheels and all, for her to be pushed into the open emergency room.

When the double doors swung shut, I had that same feeling I'd had in the plane and was glad someone was there to catch me, giving me enough support to get me to one of the molded plastic chairs in the waiting room.

I sat down hard, and then looked to my right to see Tank standing there, awaiting instructions. I had nothing to say, no instructions to offer. I'd admitted how I'd felt to Stephanie and anyone else who was close enough to hear, and then I'd had to stand down as she was wrenched away from me. There weren't any words or commands that would take away the empty feeling inside of me. Nothing I had seen or endured had prepared me for this feeling of isolation and helplessness.

Tank put his hand on my shoulder and said, "I've got it, man," and then walked to the registration desk. He knew what to do; I'd trusted him with my own life, and knew he'd take the same care of Stephanie's. And after what I'd told her, weren't they one in the same anyway?

I clasped my hands between my knees, and then bent over with my forehead resting on them, hearing the second hand of my watch ticking close to my ear. Why had I wasted so much time keeping her at arm's length? Obviously, I hadn't been protecting her; an enemy had still used her in ways so horrible, I'd never even imagined them.

I shook my head, realizing that I'd kept the distance between us because I was a fool and a coward. I was afraid of what would happen if I let myself be vulnerable. Hell, she'd proven her own toughness already, so the only explanation was that I was scared I couldn't be what she needed, not the other way around.

But the forced reality that she might be ripped from me made me acknowledge that even without the title or the public acceptance, she was mine – _mine!_ – and not even my foolish pride and rigid rules would keep us apart ever again.

I took a deep breath, trying to get a grip on myself. Falling apart in the damned waiting room like some emotional wimp wasn't going to help her. I had to keep it together and stay strong for her.

A second, slower breath helped a little more to release some of the tension I'd been storing since I first heard what happened. I had been having a beer with a contact, reviewing another successful completed mission and doing the schmoozing I hated so much but that kept the business rolling in. The guy had just mentioned the hardest thing for him in his line of work was staying in shape, because he had such a sweet tooth. I'd called on my skills of hiding my reaction at his admission of weakness and thought of Stephanie. The moment her face popped into my head, my cell phone rang and my whole world crumbled. For all I knew, the DC crony was still sitting at the bar, waiting on me to return to finish the beer.

He'd be waiting forever, for all I cared, because there was no way I could revisit this day anytime soon.

My hip buzzed, and I jumped from the shock of it. I sat up, yanking the cell off my hip in a hasty movement, and looked down to see a text from Bobby.

_Holding__ her own. This will take a __while – lots__ to repair. Eat something. Get cleaned up so you can be with her when we're done_.

Like hell. Tank came over, holding his phone and reading, before tapping my handheld with his to get my attention. "Bobby says I'm supposed to carry you out of here if I have to in order to get you fed and cleaned up. Says she'll be in there for hours."

"Not leaving," I replied, hiding the grimace at how much I sounded like a two-year-old being told to go to bed and refusing.

"Not asking you to." He matched my tone with his, before softening slightly and saying, "Zip is running to RangeMan to get you fresh clothes and some things from Ella for Stephanie. When he gets back, I've spoken to the staff here and gotten you access to a shower so you can wash up without leaving this floor. Give me some credit, man. I knew you wouldn't go."

I couldn't stop myself... The roller coaster of the day, the relief that she was hanging on and still fighting, and the fact that my oldest friend was smiling made my own mouth betray me and tip up at the corners.

Tank held out his hand, and I put mine in his. "Congrats, man. I'm so glad I didn't have to kick your ass to make you realize what was right in front of you."

"My ass got kicked all right," I told him, referring to the last two hundred and forty minutes. "You just didn't get to brag about it."

"No matter. You settled everything?" he asked, getting serious once again.

"Yeah. I told her I'm here for the long haul," I told him, not caring who heard.

"You cool with what that means?" he pushed a little more than usual, proving how important she was to him, too.

I raised an eyebrow, just to mess with him.

"You gonna have to let her in, talk to her, and accept that this may not be the last time you get a call that something's gone wrong with her. Loving that woman won't be easy."

"I don't need easy," I replied to his last sentence, but letting the truth of everything he'd said sink in as well.

He held out a fist, and I bumped it, about to thank him, when he spoke up once more. "Don't even insult me by saying it. I did it for her. The fact that the little girl seems to need you for some reason means you get the benefit of it, too. But I did it for her."

I looked around the waiting room at the men that had congregated and saw every man on my payroll. "Who's running the ship?"

Tank looked back and shook his head. "Do you really care?"

"Not a damn bit, but it looks like everyone's here," I commented.

"Got a couple of contract workers on monitors, but that's all. I got nothing to threaten these guys with bad enough to make them go back until they hear that she's going to be all right," Tank replied, speaking a truth I could understand.

My men – the guys I'd interviewed, hired, and in many cases served beside and trained. I knew their loyalty was there no matter the circumstances, but today only cemented what had previously only been held in theory. I had been out of state, and yet, they'd all dropped everything to fight for the woman I loved. I guess I should just accept the fact that they loved her, too.

I sat back and took yet another calming breath, feeling the adrenaline that had rushed me when I stopped in the ER beginning to wane slightly. Pulling out my cell phone once more, I re-read Bobby's message. She was fighting, and she'd pull though, because she was the strongest person I knew.

The guys settled down, taking chairs or finding places to lean, and I didn't bother to tell them to go back to work. They had as much of a right to be here as I did.

Two days ago, I would have said four hours was an eternity, but now I knew precisely how long it was, having counted every single one of the minutes as it passed. My whole life had been changed in the blink of an eye that passed in that span of time. I'd nearly lost her under the guise of protecting her, and as a result, in such a short period, she had become my whole world.

Thinking about Stephanie, I felt the peace that her presence in my mind always brought me and relaxed a little more, finding the zone that I knew would allow me to wait out the work happening behind the doors in front of me.

I had plenty to mull over as I waited. I hadn't exaggerated the decisions we needed to make. I had finally admitted what she was to me, and there was no reason to go slow. The mark of our relationship officially beginning was this day, and I saw no reason to step back and ease into anything.

Bobby had said it would take hours for them to finish treating her, and Juarez had defined how much time that truly was. I'd use my time now to plan out the life I wanted with Stephanie, and when I was allowed to move to her side, I'd stop at nothing to make it happen.


	13. Stephanie

_The characters below are all from the creativity of JE._

_Jenny (JenRar) you've done it again. Thank you for your hard work as the beta on this story. From beginning to end, you made this an exciting journey._

**Chapter 13 - Stephanie - 4 Hours Revisited**

"Ranger," I tried to say his name sternly to make the point I wasn't going to be deterred. "It's been three months to the day since I got out of the hospital. I'm perfectly capable of driving myself to the mall and doing a little shopping."

Then I picked up my purse and started rooting around in it. "Look." I held up a round white device. "I have a panic button and an assortment of trackers." That one earned him a glare as I tried to make the point that I was aware that nearly every week, some new device was being put in my bag to keep him constantly updated on my location.

Then I pulled out my .38 and spun the chamber to show him it was loaded – fully loaded. "And I've got my gun with more than one bullet in it."

He smiled at me, and my resolve weakened slightly. It wasn't my fault. He was just such a damn handsome man, and when he smiled, it took my breath away. I shook my head to clear it of those honest, but unhelpful thoughts.

Straightening my shoulders to show him I meant business, I continued, "I'm going out today – alone."

Ranger rolled his chair over to where I was sitting on his desk and rested his hands on my thighs. I'd been perched on the mahogany furniture for at least three minutes, which was probably a record for us being that close together and not touching since we got together. "Babe," he spoke his pet name for me, making it longer than usual, turning it into a plea of some sort.

I was no fool. I knew that the idea of me being alone and unprotected was about the only thing that scared him. After nearly losing me to the hand of one of his enemies, he'd been forced to own how he felt about me, but in doing so, he also recognized how much the idea of losing me kept him awake at night.

I'd tried to be understanding, and at first, I'd honestly had no desire to even leave the building. I'd been flooded with an irrational fear that someone else might grab me, and I wasn't entirely sure I could survive something like I'd been through at the hands of Juarez again. But the guys had refused to let me hide on the seventh floor. They'd literally picked me up, casts and all, and brought me down to five to hang out with them. When Ranger had to work late, I'd found myself on the fourth floor in someone's apartment with a group of guys surrounding me, watching movies or the latest game.

Despite their attempts to meet every need I might have, Lester was the first one to point out that no one expected me to just play this off as though nothing had happened. It took quite a few late night chats, but he'd finally worn me down, and I'd completely broken, sobbing uncontrollably and admitting to being terrified that something like that would happen again, except I wouldn't be strong enough to endure it.

We'd started talking for an hour every afternoon, sometimes just the two of us, but occasionally Ranger would stay, too. And once a week, a guy named Mac would come and take Lester's place. According to Les, Mac was the real deal – a PhD, MD, fully trained to help me deal with everything I was feeling. I knew Mac had probably done me a lot of good, but at heart, I felt like it was the chats with Lester that had made the biggest difference in me pulling myself out of the pit in my head and getting on with my life.

Bobby had checked me daily, monitoring my stitches and taking my physical therapy very seriously. Honestly, I don't know how he managed it, but I'm pretty sure all I had to do was take a deep breath, and he magically appeared at my side, checking to be sure I was all right and not in any pain. It was both touching and smothering all at once.

Eventually, everyone had relaxed, and we'd begun to settle into a new form of normal for RangeMan. By that, I mean that all I had to do was move my hand in the direction of my crutches, and one of my guys would appear, lift me up, and carry me where I wanted to go, before setting me down and waiting to see if I needed anything else.

I'd gotten a new manicure every week I'd been back from a woman Bones had found, vetted, and brought in at his own expense to keep me polished and well maintained. I knew he had a thing for nails, so I went along with it, enjoying the pampering without having to leave the secure building. On my third new color, I'd realized Bones wasn't looking at my nails anymore, but at the lovely woman working on me. The fourth visit, he began trying to draw her out in conversation, and by the time I was on my eighth new color, he finally worked up the nerve to ask her out. I loved the idea that I'd played a very small role in them meeting.

It seemed my ordeal had caused quite a few couples to spring up. When I was finally released from my ten days in the hospital, Tank and Lula came together to help carry all my flowers, stuffed animals, and boxes of chocolates to the waiting fleet of vehicles to take me home. I'd been able to see that they had done some serious talking, because there'd been a relaxed comfort between them that had been seriously absent when they were first together. They'd touched each other naturally, without Lula clinging or taking over. And when they'd had to split up to go in different directions, he'd leaned down and kissed her, before whispering something in her ear that made her laugh before smacking his shoulder. The matching grin on Tank's face had told me my friends, who I'd always hoped could be together, had worked through their past histories and were on a solid foundation together this time.

Of course, the biggest office romance started as a result of my capture was between Cal and Binkie. I had to say I was shocked, as I hadn't realized either of them was gay prior to my time in the pit. In looking back on it now, I guess there were little signs I should have picked up on. Every time I saw them together, it made me smile. They were perfectly suited to each other. Both were strong, lethal, yet laid back and tenderhearted. I felt like they could protect each other without putting out the unique spark that I loved about them both. Plus, every time they were reunited after being apart, Binkie put his hand on Cal's shoulder where the tattoo was that I knew he hated, and Cal would lean forward and say, "Hey Bunny." It seemed like a strange greeting, but they both lit up every time, so I couldn't help but watch them.

My parents had been remarkably supportive. They'd come by a few times to check on me, but Mom had sent a steady stream of baked goods so that I never doubted how she felt for me. I knew the guys had intentionally left them in the dark during my rescue until I came out of surgery and the doctor had finally stated that he was hopeful I would make a full, if not slow, recovery.

I had to assume they'd been briefed about what I'd been through, but they never spoke of it or asked me any questions. I figured they were probably choosing to dwell on the fact that I was alive now, and denying how close I'd come to leaving this world was just easier than facing the truth of it. I guess I got my propensity for living in denial land from somewhere; it had to be genetic.

Hal had put himself in charge of my morning cup of coffee. It seemed like a small thing, but every day when I was delivered by whatever set of capable arms that scooped me up, he seemed to materialize with a steaming cup of caffeine made exactly the way I liked it. Somehow, Hal understood the precise amount of sugar and cream to turn it into a perfect experience to drink. Hell, even I couldn't make it taste as good as he could, so I put this on the list of one more benefit of having a friend who was so detail oriented.

After my opening sips of coffee began to have an effect, Tank would usually stop by and give me a short list of things to do. At first, they were easy searches, but I noticed that he was beginning to slip other items in lately, like coming up with the duty rosters and schedules. He said I knew the guys well enough to pair them appropriately, and he hated doing it because the guys always bitched and moaned about what he assigned them to. He hoped by having me in charge of the schedule, he wouldn't have to listen to them anymore. I don't know if it worked or not, but I was thrilled to be helpful in any capacity, so I'd gladly taken it on.

Of course, Bobby only allowed me to work for two hours each day and would literally come to my desk with his finger on his watch if I went even a minute over my designated time. As much as I wanted to complain about his rigidity, I was usually glad to stop, because getting over all my injuries had turned out to be draining and exhausting, and I actually needed the extra rest.

Zero usually brought me lunch and would point out that he gave me the same thing he was eating. Sometimes, they were just sandwiches from the break room, but a couple of times each week, he'd bring me something he'd made, with the excuse that since I had a little of him flowing in my veins, I'd probably be craving whatever he was. I didn't dare complain. Not only had his blood literally saved my life, but he was eerily dead on when he'd bring a steak and cheese sub, or even a sandwich that he called a po-boy, but I called little pieces of fried shrimp on a buttered bun slathered in a creamy sauce. The name didn't matter; it was absolutely delicious, and I adored having someone bringing me food that was so in tune with what I loved to eat.

Because I'd had such a hard core cast on my leg and ankle, I'd needed to keep it elevated to help the swelling not be an issue. Manny had rigged some kind of cool hammock under my desk that I could slide the cast into, and then adjust the height with a little rope, raising or lowering it as I needed to for comfort. I'd made a comment about how handy he was to have around and asked what he could do for the angle of my keyboard, since having my leg outstretched kept me too far away from my computer to be comfortable and typing on a laptop wasn't my favorite thing to do. The next morning, I'd had a much larger monitor so that seeing from a great distance was simple, as well as a lap board, which consisted of a keyboard with a mouse roller ball and touchpad mounted on a cushioned lap desk that was wirelessly connected to my PC tower. I could angle my seat back and work in style. It was just one more piece of evidence about how well cared for I was.

When the last cast came off three weeks ago, I was finally able to really get into the physical therapy on my leg, which was both hard work and a relief all at once. Early on, I'd loved having the guys around, doing things for me, because it helped me when I needed it, and it made me feel protected and safe. But I'd worked through a sufficient amount of my issues and time had passed enough that I was eager to assert some independence, too.

That thought pulled me back to the present. Realizing Ranger was going to let just the single word Babe be all the explanation he was going to offer if I'd let him get away with it, I remembered my promise to myself this morning to stay strong. Touching his face with my right hand, I said, "I know you don't want me to leave the building, but we talked about it last night, and it's time for me to get my life back."

He shook his head and disagreed. "No, _you_ talked about it last night and I listened, but I never said that I agreed with your plan to go into a crowded public place alone for an undetermined amount of time."

I decided to change tactics, unwilling to admit defeat. "Okay, what would take to make you agree?"

"Let me go with you," he offered, totally missing the point of what I wanted.

"No," I abruptly responded. "What else in lieu of you going with me?"

"Tank?" Ranger suggested, sounding uncertain.

I narrowed my eyes in an attempt to glare at him. "I'm not taking Tank shopping. He'd end up leaving me there anyway to come back and hurt you himself."

Ranger chuckled at my response, knowing how much his second in command hated the mall. He'd do it, but I was right that it would come at a cost to Ranger.

"I get that you want to go somewhere by yourself, but would you consider something a little less stressful?" Ranger suggested, growing more serious now, so I tried to do the same.

"Less stressful for who?" I wondered.

Ranger shrugged, which I interpreted to mean him. "How about Pino's? You could go for lunch and stay as long as you wanted."

I couldn't stop myself from laughing at his weak suggestion. "It's only ten o'clock, which even by my standards is way too early for Pino's. Besides, you're just suggesting that because it is always overrun with cops."

"Like I said, it would be less stressful," Ranger reiterated.

"No, I'm going to the mall," I repeated, determined to make this work. "But I did call Lula to go with me, so you can relax, because I won't be shopping alone."

"You can't drive," Ranger blurted out.

"Yes, I can. I just haven't, because anytime we've gone somewhere, you've done the driving," I refuted, assuring him I was capable just the same.

"Let me at least drop you off at the door and come back to pick you up," he offered, obviously beginning to realize that I was going to do this with or without his agreement.

"No, you are going to stay here and work. For the last three months, your day has revolved around me, and beginning today, that needs to shift," I said, trying to sound more firm than I felt. In truth, I'd loved being the center of Ranger's attention, and I knew that even though the trip to the mall unsupervised would be great, I would miss him by my side.

"Babe." This time when he said my name, his voice dropped, and he found a way to pull me off the desk into his lap. "Whether you're here or not will make no difference in the fact that my world revolves around you now. Screwing around with my schedule won't change that fact."

Damn, now I wasn't as gung ho about leaving. Hearing sweet comments like that come from Ranger's mouth never grew old, and I was torn between gaining some freedom and locking the door to work on what Ranger referred to as my respiratory therapy.

While I was in the hospital, the doctors had made me take deep breaths and hold them before letting them out. The therapist had even suggested making a sound as I let out the breath so I would be sure to get all the air out of my lungs before drawing in another dose of oxygen. Ranger said the way I breathed when we made love wasn't an exact duplicate of the exercise, but I did take deep breaths and attempt to hold them to stay quiet, before giving up and eventually making some moaning sound or loud scream, depending upon what Ranger was doing. I was completely okay with calling our bedroom sports therapy.

Poor Bobby wasn't aware of our code name for it and would remind me several times a day that I needed to keep up my therapy to ensure a full recovery. I would blush, and if he was nearby, Ranger would usually whisper some offer to assist me with that before taking me to the nearest private location to make good on his word.

"I told you on the ride to the hospital that I needed you to brace yourself that I wasn't going to be able to let you out of my sight for a long time," he tried bargaining again.

"I'm out of your sight for the better part of the work day already," I countered.

Ranger shook his head. "True, but I know where you are and that you're surrounded by my men. You're safe, and if I get uneasy, I can pull up a video feed of you somewhere in the building."

I leaned back a little to better see his face. "You pull up cameras during the day to spy on me?" Why was that both a little creepy and totally endearing at the same time?

Ranger's index finger traced the bottom of my jaw. "I prefer not to think of it as spying."

"How else do you classify watching me without my knowledge?" I pushed, enjoying him being in the hot seat for once.

He paused, considering his response for a moment, before saying, "It's me monitoring the safety and security of the most important thing in my life. And it gives me the ability to rescue you if you're looking overwhelmed from the attention the guys are throwing your way."

"I wondered how you managed to always time your arrival so perfectly," I couldn't help but comment. "And all this time, I thought it was just because you were Batman."

Ranger leaned forward and kissed down the column of my neck. "Even Batman had some fancy technology he used to help him out."

I heard myself moan, giving into the pleasure that Ranger so generously lavished upon me, before realizing that if I gave in and let him take this any further, I'd miss the window of opportunity to get to the mall this morning while it wasn't that crowded. So, I dug down deep and found the strength to pull away from his magic lips.

That action got his attention, as I don't think I'd ever refused him so abruptly before.

"I'm going to the mall. I'll swing by and pick up Lula. I'll have my cell phone on my hip, my panic button in my pocket, and my trackers in my purse at all times. You can call me anytime you feel the need to check in, but I'm taking back my life today, and when I get back, brace yourself for me to thank you for understanding how much I needed to do this and how very grateful I'll be for you staying here and not following me – or assigning someone else to shadow me, either." I threw in the final bit as a last minute thought, but the way his face fell told me he'd already been planning on calling in the guys to keep an eye on me.

I stood up slowly, partially to ease my weight onto my leg, and partly to be sure I didn't lose my balance after being so close to Ranger. He had a way of short circuiting my brain and making my equilibrium a little off.

I took his hand and said, "You can even walk me to the elevator."

Ranger lifted our joined fingers to his lips and lingered for a moment, before accepting that I was going to do this and squaring his shoulders to see me out.

When we passed by the control room where a group of guys had gathered, Junior called out, "Where are you two going?" They were used to me having regular doctor's appointments, so they probably assumed I was going to another check up with some specialist.

"I'm going to the mall, and Ranger here is walking me to the elevator," I replied, figuring honesty was always the best approach with my guys.

I had obviously seriously underestimated their response. "Who's going with you?" Hector asked in his sexy accented English. He'd given up only speaking Spanish and used each language depending upon who he was talking to.

"I'm going to pick up Lula, and we're heading out together," I said, struggling to contain my excitement.

Cal jumped in first. "Let me grab my keys, and I'll drive you."

Ranger turned so that he was no longer facing the guys in order to hide the smile on his face.

"No, I'm doing this on my own," I interrupted before he tried to take over my morning away.

"Where are you going?" Woody asked, grabbing a tablet and pencil for some strange reason to write down my responses.

"I'm going to the mall, and I'm not going to be tailed, followed, shadowed, or spied upon," I informed them, hoping I'd covered any possible basis for them showing up unannounced.

"How long will you be gone?" Tank called out from the door of his office, most likely already knowing the details, because I knew he'd spent the night at Lula's house, and she'd no doubt told him of our plan for the day.

I took a deep breath, reminding myself that they were only giving me the third degree out of concern and love and if I'd just take a minute and answer their questions, they'd be much more likely to abide by my wishes.

I glanced at my watch. It was a quarter 'til ten already, so I did a little quick math of how much time I needed to get a few new pairs of shoes at Macys to accommodate my current limp a little better, maybe some new outfits that would cover a few more of my scars, a vital trip to Victoria's Secrets, and lunch at the food court. "I'll be back by two, so I guess I'll be gone for four hours," I announced reasonably.

I was absolutely unprepared for the response I got from the guys. As soon as I said the words, the guys that were seated stood up. The ones that had been casually standing or leaning snapped to attention. And as if directed by a choirmaster, they all called out, "No!" in unison.

I blinked a few times, taking an unconscious step closer to Ranger's strong arms, completely at a loss about why they were refusing to let me go.

Fortunately, Ranger understood and explained it to me. "They aren't saying you can't go, but it's going to be a long time before we're able to think about you and four hours in the same sentence without it causing us all to panic."

I glanced at my watch again as a ruse to cover up how emotional his explanation made me. Two hours was probably more than enough time to get some new shoes and thoroughly investigate the new lines of lingerie. I looked back up and said, "You know, if anybody is free, I think Lula and I will be at the food court about 12:30. If you're in the neighborhood, we'd love to have you join us in a couple of hours."

I looked around at the guys, and my heart swelled. They had relaxed already, but their faces were radiant with happiness at my inclusion of them in my first big solo outing. I didn't want to get emotional in front of them and have anybody question whether or not I was up to leaving, so I kissed Ranger's cheek and squeezed his hand, before letting go and walking to the elevator. I stepped in, but turned back with my hand on the doors to keep them open, looking at the Merry Men one more time.

I wasn't one to talk about my feelings unless I was literally in a life or death situation, but something in the way they were looking at me, with their hearts so visible on their faces, gave me the courage I needed to step away from my usual way of shutting down my emotions and speak up instead. "I love you all," I confessed. "You know that, don't you?"

I heard a few throats being cleared, and I saw Hal's face turn that beautiful shade of red that let me know he, at least, had heard me. Bones was studying his own fingernails and Tank's face was split in half with a breathtaking smile.

But it was Lester's voice that spoke above all the others to reply, "What's not to love? All these smart guys, and we're not bad to look at, either."

I couldn't help myself. I burst out laughing, which in turn caused the guys to chuckle and join me. I heard somebody smack the back of Lester's head as I turned back to board the elevator. I briefly wondered how many smacks to the head he'd taken on my behalf to provide a little comic relief to diffuse a tense moment.

I pushed the button marked G and rode down to the garage, where I was not the least bit surprised to be see Vince standing beside the open door of a standard RangeMan Explorer. He'd backed it up to the elevator so that I only had to take six steps to reach the driver's side.

"Thank you, Vince," I said as I climbed in behind the wheel.

He shut the door, but since the window was rolled down, I could hear him respond, "See ya for lunch."

I put my hand on top of his at the opening of the window, and then smiled before saying, "Go ahead and pull up my trackers. I know you guys are going to be keeping tabs on me while I'm out."

He blushed, but had the good sense not to deny it. "Have fun," he offered instead, before stepping away and letting me put the truck in drive and begin reclaiming a little of my independence.

I drove away from the building that had been my fortress for the last few months. For once, I hadn't thought of it as a jail, but rather as a castle, where I was the princess surrounded by my prince and all our noble knights. I laughed at the image and let it warm my heart that despite having literally lived in hell for a small period of time, I was the luckiest woman alive in my own personal little heaven decorated in black.

Despite their attention, no one had dared to promise me that I'd never be hurt again, but I knew they'd do everything physically possible to ensure that I was okay. When Juarez had taken me, they'd seen what it was like to imagine life without me in it, and for whatever reason, they'd decided that I was worth fighting for. I'd never doubted them in the past, but this just cemented my opinion of what miracles they could perform. Thinking of it like that made me wonder if knights were the right description for them. Perhaps they were more like unlikely angels. Somehow, the flowing robes and feathery wings image didn't fit, making me smile even more.

I wasn't a hundred percent yet. I still walked with a slight limp, I got headaches every so often that took some major doses of Advil to bring down to a manageable level, and my shoulder seemed to be sore whenever it rained. But my broken ribs had mended and were no longer painful, and my face had healed with no scars, so I couldn't complain about that. The surgeons had repaired the internal bleeding in time, and even though I'd lost my spleen, I hadn't really missed it, so I couldn't find a downside there, either. I had nightmares about once a week, but even that was down from daily, like it had been in the hospital. Once I was able to sleep in a bed with Ranger's arms around me, they weren't as bad, and after beginning my sessions with Lester and Mac, the severity and amount began to go down, too. I wasn't back to anybody's definition of normal, but I was well on my way – and I recognized that "normal" was highly overrated anyway.

Plus, I was happy, which had to count for something. I'd made it through because of my Merry Men and Ranger and found myself stronger in a lot of ways on the other side.

I didn't delude myself into thinking that I'd have a life of ease with no bumps in the road from here on out, but I knew whatever was thrown at me, I'd never have to face it alone. And whether the first real test came in four hours or four years, I had no doubts that we'd make it.

_A/N: Wow…this rollercoaster is finally finished. Thank you so much for being willing to come along for the wild and crazy ride, and for taking the time to leave such thoughtful and encouraging reviews and messages. I wanted to step out of my usual comfort zone for a story and write something different and it meant so much that you were willing to indulge that and read along. _

_I'll be taking my usual break for a few weeks, and then I'll be back. Always searching for something different, I'll try to come up with a new twist for our favorite heroine, but I promise it won't contain any super high angst or tight time countdowns. Once again, thank you all for your encouragement and kind words. Our fandom has some truly wonderful people and I count myself blessed to have gotten to know so many of you. _


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